I Am Out With Lanterns Page 10

  ‘I’m up for that,’ says Will.

  Nate looks at me. ‘Benny boy?’

  ‘No problem,’ I say. Something will turn up.

  ‘And you lot?’ Nate says to the others.

  ‘Might even have something already,’ says Jake, and chucks his watermelon rind at Nate.

  Charlie and Lachie both give a slow nod. That leaves Marcus.

  ‘I dunno, seems messed up. I’ve got a sister.’

  ‘So fucking what?’ Nate laughs but doesn’t look up from the screen. ‘She’s not on here.’

  The boys finally leave. I lie on the grass a bit longer, close my eyes and listen to Mum clearing away the plates and glasses, and when she’s gone, the cicadas. Bliss.

  ‘On your feet, buddy.’

  I open one eye to find an upside-down Dad. He’s standing by the pool in his togs. ‘Hey, Dad, didn’t know you were home.’

  ‘Came back early so we could get in a few laps before your tryouts tomorrow.’

  It takes my last bit of strength to get up and walk closer, groping in my brain for an excuse. ‘I’ve been training in the pool all afternoon. I’m shattered.’

  ‘I came back especially, Ben.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

  He frowns and stares me down.

  ‘Dad, I’m serious, I’ve done enough.’

  ‘Are you sure, mate?’ He takes a couple of steps towards me. ‘You’re not gonna let me down?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m bloody sure, Dad. Okay?’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  My feet leave the ground as he wraps his arms around me and hurls us both into the air over the pool. I watch the water coming towards us. The moment we break the surface, it feels like glass smashing against my skin. We sink until he lets go and I swim up to the top, then start wading towards the side with my arms paddling hard like oars. Suddenly, my legs are pulled out from under me. He flips me onto my stomach, even while I struggle against him. He’s too strong. There’s nothing I can do, so I take all the rage and use it to pump my arms and keep my top half from drowning while Dad holds my ankles and I tow the fat bastard along.

  Jesus! Fuck! I’m too old for him to push around like this.

  Four laps, five, six; his grip on my ankles is tighter than usual. Seven laps, eight; I feel sick. I’m just coming to the middle of the ninth lap when I realise I’m done.

  I’m done.

  Listen to me, I’m done.

  ‘Get off!’ I try to shout, jerking around like a goddamn fish. ‘Let go!’ I get a mouthful of water and he grips on tighter.

  ‘You’re nearly there!’

  I’m gasping for breath; the other end seems miles away. ‘Dad!’

  I twist again and kick out. My foot makes contact with flesh and bone. I’m free from his grip, but when I turn to see what’s happened, Dad’s hands are over his face. Blood leaks between his fingers.

  ‘I’m bleeding, Ben. Get me a cloth!’

  I wade against the tension in the water. My arms are springs as I push myself up out of the pool and land on my feet. Water comes off me in torrents as I search around the pile of uniform. I find a white handkerchief and plunge back into the pool with my arm raised to keep it dry. ‘Here, Dad.’

  He breathes heavily, baring his teeth, which are outlined with the blood that pours from his nose. He blinks, presses the cloth over his nose and mouth, pushes me out of the way and wades towards the pool ladder.

  ‘I’m sorry! Dad! It was an accident!’

  I watch him disappear into the house.

  Shit.

  The water clings in a cold line around my stomach. I smack the surface and face the sky.

  ‘Are you crying, Ben?’

  Noah is standing by the side of the pool in his judo gear, long hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  ‘No, mate. Just tired.’

  Dad makes him do judo because Noah hates sport. Noah goes along with it because he likes to keep the peace. We are nothing alike, except on that score.

  I made a promise to myself to avoid Adie all week. I haven’t even let myself look at the portrait. I’ve shoved her in the cupboard under the stairs in between the shelves and the ironing board: out of sight, out of mind.

  I should clarify the level of difficulty when it comes to avoiding the real Adie – I barely catch sight of her at school. I try not to think about her too, but that proves beyond my current skill level. By the end of the week, I’ve decided that she’s moved schools or left the country. I take this personally even though we’ve never had a single conversation.

  That first English class feels so long ago. All the anticipation about Adie appearing on my sketchpad and then right in front of me is an embarrassing memory.

  But I can’t let it go.

  I’m pissed off that something so unimportant could take over my thoughts. I don’t even know her. She’s probably annoying and boring and not into any of the same things as me. I’m horrified at myself. Is this a crush? It feels like a parasite. It’s almost completely unenjoyable.

  Friday evening, I hit rock bottom. Mum and Summer are at the cinema, Dad’s fussing in the kitchen and Milo’s over. We’re on the couch with our laptops, pretending to write an essay. I know for a fact that he’s on Minecraft, and as for me … I google ‘Adie Ryan’. There are loads of them. None of them is my Adie.

  My Adie? Get a grip, Wren.

  But I want something. A sign.

  I shouldn’t, but I get up, open the cupboard, tuck myself away from Milo’s view and slide out the frame.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he says from the couch.

  ‘Looking for some old … er … textbooks … for the … essay.’

  ‘Cool.’

  Adie’s eyes – eyes I drew – look at me in a different way. It’s unsettling, as if the drawing has actually changed. The logical part of my brain kicks in – it’s well known that people have long, complex relationships with paintings. Portraits or abstracts, it doesn’t matter. There are stories of people going to look at a particular piece of art in a gallery every day for years. Every single day. Imagine the hours, and the changes they’d see as their relationship with the picture grew closer. That’s all this is. The fact that I’m the artist doesn’t make a difference.

  The new thing I see in Adie’s portrait is loneliness. The defiance and strength I saw before was a mask. This Adie is lonely.

  There’s a terrifying yell from the kitchen and a thud. The frame falls as I run into the room. Dad’s on his back with his eyes closed.

  ‘Dad! What’s happened?’

  Bee runs in. There’s smoke coming from the sandwich maker. Dad groans. Bee skitters nervously around him, sniffing him and leaping back.

  ‘Don’t touch him, Wren!’ Milo yells. ‘I think he’s had an electric shock.’

  ‘We need an ambulance!’

  Milo grabs Dad’s phone from the kitchen bench, and the smoke alarm starts to go off.

  Dad opens his eyes. ‘I’m okay,’ he says, but it’s barely audible over the alarm.

  I run back to the cupboard while Milo kneels beside Dad.

  My picture is upside down by the entrance to the cupboard. There’s a sharp shard of glass poking out from underneath. I slide it out of the way with my foot and grab a broom. First, I reach over the sandwich maker and press the switch on the wall socket with the end of the broom. Then I smash the smoke alarm till it cracks like a pavlova.

  Dad rolls onto his side and pulls himself up to sitting. ‘It’s all right, kids.’ But we can hear the pain in his voice, and then his face crumples and he starts sobbing.

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ I crouch on the kitchen floor with him.

  ‘It’s nothing, honestly.’

  ‘But you’re crying, Dad!’

  ‘Yeah, big boys cry, you know.’ He smiles and sniffs and lets out a big shaky sigh. There’s a weeping burn on his hand. ‘I felt the shock go up my elbow. But I’m really okay. I’ve read that it’s very common to feel emotional after an electric shock
.’

  ‘Good to know, Dad.’ I try to sound light while my whole body floods with adrenalin. ‘I might take a cattle prod to school with me.’

  ‘The ambulance is on its way,’ says Milo.

  ‘Am I allowed to hug him yet?’

  Bee pokes her head over Dad’s shoulder and licks his face.

  Milo takes the broom out of my hands. ‘I think that means yes.’

  Later, I chuck the picture frame and broken glass in the bin outside. After rummaging in Mum’s studio, I find a roll of cloth tape and take the portrait of Adie upstairs. I wish I could tell her about what happened today. It feels like she’s part of it. I tear off four small strips with my teeth to fix her to the wall. Maybe hiding her away was the wrong tactic. She’s just a drawing. The best I’ve ever done.

  The electrics have gone. Dad says we’re not to touch a single switch until the electrician comes. He’s paranoid about it. We’re in a rental, so it could be a while until it’s fixed. I put tea lights in jars in every room and all the way up the stairs.

  You don’t realise how much noise a house makes until it stops. Every sound is louder now; every thought is louder too. I can feel Adie’s eyes on my back as I move around the room. Whenever I try to concentrate on something else, an itch or a breeze draws my attention to her again. After an hour up here, I feel exhausted by it but energised too. The electricity that used to feed our house is coursing through my veins.

  The front door comes crashing open. There’s a groan and heavy, stumbling boots.

  ‘Dad?’ I call out from my bedroom.

  He careers past me towards the kitchen. I find him bent over the sink with blood pouring from a gash in his forehead.

  ‘What happened?’

  He grunts, emitting sweet booziness with a vomit after-stench. The water runs pink and eventually clear. I hand him one of the old cloths he uses to dry paintbrushes. He presses it to his head and starts to throw up.

  ‘Who did this to you?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he says, mouth slack, one hand gripping the tap to stop himself from falling. ‘One minute we were making a schedule to repay the loan and the next …’

  One minute. And then this. No, I don’t think that’s how this kind of thing happens. ‘What loan?’

  ‘Money for us!’ he shouts. ‘For you, for school, for all this!’ He swings his arm around the shitty kitchen.

  There’s never any food in the fridge, but he did get me a laptop. We sit on chairs we found in a skip, all the bills are red. Dad’s never been able to hold down a normal job because he was born to be an artist. Artists just have to wait for their lucky star, he says.

  Maybe that’s why there was someone at the door earlier.

  Nothing to do with my chair but Dad’s debts.

  ‘What if I don’t win the award, Adie?’

  He looks scared. I push my arms tighter into their knot. He retches over the sink, producing nothing but a long thick line of saliva.

  ‘I’m better than this,’ he tells the plughole, and hurls a painful cloud of nothing into the sink again.

  When he’s stopped retching, he sits at the half-moon table. I’ve bound the painter’s cloth around his head and now I put tea in front of him.

  He looks up at me with sore eyes. ‘Sit with me, Adie.’

  He winces when he tries to stretch on the wooden chair. I can’t be angry; I need to soothe him. They must have got him in the ribs as well as the head. The blood is already seeping through the cloth. He sips his tea, but it’s too hot.

  ‘Where’s Dara?’ I ask.

  ‘How should I know?’

  I drag my armchair into the kitchen with super human strength and put it in the corner. After I take him gently by the elbow and lead him over to it, he sinks down, sighing, and strokes the armrests. The cat walks into the kitchen. I pick it up and put it in Dad’s lap. The smile that spreads across his face changes something in my structure. It’s hard to imagine that there was ever an umbilical cord between me and my mother, when I can’t even picture her face. But there is something unbreakable between me and Dad.

  ‘Thanks for looking after your old man, kiddo. You know I love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  ‘Now, what about you? Tell me about what I’ve missed.’ It’s like coming home all over again. This is the dad I hang out for.

  I wake to a loud noise on Saturday morning. Dara’s shouting, but it’s happy shouting, and Dad’s hooting and cheering. I get up so fast it gives me a head-rush and I have to lean on the wall for a moment. When the stars have gone, I tear out of the room.

  Dad’s beaming when I get to the kitchen. He lifts me off the floor in a breath-taking hug.

  Dara lights a cigarette with one hand and with the other she punches the air once in victory. ‘Perfect,’ she says, and it’s the first time she’s meant it. Dad’s portrait of us has made the shortlist. It’s actually made it.

  ‘It’ll be in the paper,’ says Dad, putting me back down. ‘It’ll be everywhere.’ He holds an arm out to Dara. ‘My girls.’ He kisses both of us on the tops of our heads.

  I don’t know how to name this feeling.

  When I’m dressed, Dad sends me out for milk, teabags, a newspaper and aspirin, with a ten-dollar note: ‘That’s all I have, but we’ll be rolling in it soon enough.’ He’s flying so high it makes my stomach lurch.

  What if, I think. What if the shortlist is as far as it goes? What if the shortlist is as far as it goes and there’s no money and things stay the same and Dad decides to take us away again?

  Out on the street, some distance away, Tav and Piper are walking towards me. They’re holding hands and she skips every few steps and swings his arm. I tuck my hair behind my ears and feel self-conscious. I haven’t thought about Tav and Piper even once since I met them outside our houses, but now that we’re about to collide again I’m nervous.

  Piper sees me and points, and I notice Tav smile at her awkwardly and look somewhere else.

  ‘Hello, Adie,’ she says, when we’re up close. She says my name as if she’s practised it.

  ‘Hello, Piper.’

  ‘Hey,’ says Tav, but it could almost have been a cough instead of a word.

  ‘Hey,’ I say softly.

  By the look on Piper’s face, it’s somehow become obvious that I feel shy around Tav, even though this is news to me too. ‘Do you want a job?’ she says.

  Her directness makes me smile. ‘Um, as what?’

  ‘Well …’ She looks up at Tav, but not for approval. I get the impression Piper makes most of her own decisions and maybe some of his. ‘I need someone to look after me because Tav is in Year Twelve, which is a crucial year.’

  ‘Crucial’ on her lips is funny too. Meanwhile, I process that Tav is still in high school.

  ‘You’re not at Fairfield High, are you?’ I say, looking straight at him for the first time.

  ‘No, The Hall.’

  ‘He got a scholarship,’ says Piper, as if it’s a delicious secret.

  ‘Oh … cool.’

  ‘So you’ll take the job then,’ she carries on.

  Tav and I laugh. ‘Piper, you’re a bully,’ he says, pulling her closer to him.

  ‘Am not. Bullying is very serious. I’m persuasive, though, aren’t I?’ She takes a step towards me and drags Tav along with her, which puts us all in a knot.

  ‘Very persuasive, Piper. You know more long words than I do.’ Damn, why did I say that?

  Tav suddenly scoops Piper up onto his shoulders. ‘I don’t know if you’re interested,’ he says, ‘but it’d just be after school a few days and the odd evening. Piper’s no trouble, despite appearances. My sister can pay ten dollars an hour and she always has good snacks in the house.’

  I finger the ten dollars in my pocket; Dad’s money. Piper tilts her head and gives me a gap-toothed smile.

  ‘Look, think about it,’ says Tav. ‘Knock on our door if you’re interested – we’ll be in all weekend.’


  ‘Okay. Thanks. I will.’

  As they leave, Piper towering over me, she keeps her eyes locked on mine. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but it’s a new way of being looked at and I like it.

  I walk back from the shop slowly, noticing how the way home is automatic now. But when I turn onto our street, far up ahead Dad is arguing on the pavement with a woman. She looks like the woman I caught staring at me last week when I took the chair, the woman I later thought had knocked on our door.

  I try to hear what they’re saying. I get the courts and paid the debt and do the right thing for once because they’re shouting now, so maybe this woman is some kind of loan shark or maybe it’s something different and maybe it’s not even the same woman. She’s walked away before I can figure anything out.

  ‘What was that about?’ I ask Dad. He looks shocked to see me.

  ‘Did you get everything? Any change?’

  ‘You only gave me ten dollars.’

  He snatches the bag from my hand and heads inside.

  That moment is a blip, easy to push away. The weekend feels like a wind change now that Dad’s been shortlisted, and my face is stuck in a smile.

  I last until the afternoon before going next door. There are chalk drawings up the front path. There’s no doorknocker or bell, but I get a whisper of something familiar when I rap my knuckles hard against the door panel. The house shifts as someone runs along the hallway to answer.

  The door opens and Piper’s gap-toothed smile is like sunshine. ‘Adie!’ Behind her is a woman who looks like Tav, with longer hair and glasses. ‘Mum, this is the girl.’

  ‘I’m Elise. Lovely to meet you.’

  ‘Hi. Piper said you were looking for a babysitter.’

  ‘Childminder,’ says Piper. ‘I’m not a baby.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Elise gives me a supportive look. ‘Do you have much experience with children?’

  ‘A bit,’ I say. Which is a lie.

  ‘Do you like playing?’ Piper says seriously.

  ‘I love playing.’

  ‘What about stories?’

  ‘Yes. I know a lot of those.’