Finding Home (15 page)

‘Nick,’ I called. It took a few seconds, but eventually he looked my way. When he saw me, his face broke into a smile and he jogged to my side. So far, so good.

‘Hey, Amy,’ he said, nodding. His hair was slightly damp and he smelt fresh, like soap or linen that’s just been washed. It was completely at odds with his rocker appearance.

‘You smell good,’ I said, the words slipping out of my mouth before I could catch myself. Flashbacks of him watching me lick my hand started running through my head. I blushed.

‘Oh, I do, do I?’ Nick wiggled his eyebrows. ‘So your thing with Stevie D is non-exclusive, then?’

‘What?!’

‘You know, you and Stevie D,’ Nick said. ‘At the bar together, on the weekend…he took you by the arm. You seemed pretty cosy.’ He seemed a little less comfortable now. ‘No wonder you were weirded out when I said the things about Luke. Clearly, you had a much bigger man on the side.’

‘Nick, Stevie D is my dad. Don’t you ever joke about that again!’ I said, jaw dropping in shock. He’d gotten it all so wrong. Thank God I’d reached him before he’d told anyone. Not only was his story completely incorrect, it was more embarrassing than the truth.

A look of understanding washed over Nick’s face as he took my words in, followed by a flash of something else — if I hadn’t known better, I’d have been tempted to say he looked relieved.

‘Your dad?’ Nick asked, and I nodded. ‘Heavy.’

It was. We let the silence settle over us for a few seconds.

‘So, anyway, I was wondering if you could please do me a huge favour and not tell anyone about it?’

‘Not tell anyone?’ Nick repeated. He looked confused, like he didn’t understand. What was wrong with him? Was it really so hard to get? Of course I wouldn’t want people knowing about my sorry excuse for a father.

‘Hey, groupie!’ I heard someone yelling. The voice came from a group of girls clustered near the school gates, about 20 metres away from where we were standing. My heart sank right down to the soles of my feet. I was too late. Clearly, Nick had been busy.

Worse than that, he’d told the wrong story.

‘Obviously, I’m too late,’ I said. ‘Thanks a lot!’ Sarcasm dripped from my voice as I stormed away.

‘Amy, wait —’ I heard Nick say, but I didn’t turn back. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I needed to get away, away from Nick and that group of girls as soon as I could.

I hated him, hated him, hated him for not asking me about it first. I hadn’t thought he’d be such a petty gossip.

Damage control kicked in. I needed to speak to Luke before it was too late, and make sure he heard the story, the correct story, from me first.

I didn’t slow down until I reached the quadrangle. I could see Lily in the distance and felt relieved.
Thank God. Someone I can talk to about all this.

I rushed towards her with big, purposeful strides, until I was standing right behind her. I put one hand on her snowy white arm, eager to share my load.

‘Lily, I’m so —’

‘Some friend you are,’ she said, cutting me off. She turned, and I saw that her eyes were lined with red like she’d been crying. But Lily wouldn’t cry, and certainly not because I hadn’t told her about my father.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, apologising. ‘I guess I should have told you.’ I really hadn’t thought she’d care so much.

‘What are you talking about?’ she asked. She put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a shake. ‘I took your stupid advice with Kyle. You telling me
is
the freaking problem.’

My heart sank. Clearly there were bigger problems at play.

‘What advice?’ I asked, confused.

‘Wow, clearly our friendship means a lot to you,’ Lily said, rolling her eyes. ‘The weekend before last. You told me to tell Kyle how I felt. I asked him to be my boyfriend.’ From the look on Lily’s face, that had not gone well.

‘What did he say?’ I asked in a small voice.

‘That he didn’t want that. That he thought I was cool, different from all the other chicks.’ Lily’s eyes burned holes into mine. ‘And that, since I’m obviously not, he doesn’t want to see me any more.’

This time actual tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill down her face at any moment.
Oh God, oh God. What have I done?

‘Lily, I’m so sorry.’ I tried to put an awkward arm around her. ‘He’s a jerk who doesn’t know what he wants, and —’

‘You should be sorry!’ Lily yelled, throwing my arm off in protest, She was seething, taking these deep breaths and scaring the crap out of me. ‘If you hadn’t opened your big mouth and given me all these stupid ideas about what I should and shouldn’t be wanting, then this would never have been a problem.’

‘Lily, that’s not how it is. If he doesn’t want to be seen to be your boyfriend, then it’s him with the problem, not me.’ How could she be so blind? How could she take out her depression on me?

‘You’re right,’ she said sarcastically, nodding . ‘I should definitely take my relationship advice from the girl who’s sleeping with a pop star. Or is this the girl who’s in love with another chick’s boyfriend? I can’t get your story straight.’

Her words hurt. I could handle her being ridiculous about Dad, but hearing her name my crime against Coral somehow too much. It chilled me to the bone.

‘Actually, Luke’s going to leave her,’ I said, defending myself.

‘Ha!’ Lily barked. ‘Give me a break. And here I thought you were smart.’

And with that she turned on her heel and stormed away, swinging her arms as she went. I wanted to follow her, but I had bigger fish to fry. I had to get to Luke before he found out, too.

I was standing there by myself, trying to decide where to go, when it happened. All around the quad, people had turned to look at me. I could hear whispers, quiet voices, and I felt sick again, much worse than I’d felt when I was hung-over the day before. I knew with sinking certainty that the whispers were about me.

A voice rang out across the quad, hushing the whispers. It was Coral.

‘Amy, if you’re going to have sex with a pop star, you could at least make it with someone younger and hotter.’

‘Shut up,’ I heard myself whimper. My voice was small and sounded scared, even to me. I couldn’t handle this.

‘I know all about your dirty little Stevie D secret,’ he said, cackling loudly and making sure that everybody in the quad could hear her. ‘And if you thought you could try and pull the wool over everyone’s eyes by trying to hit on my boyfriend at Ashley’s party, you’re
so
mistaken.’

My palms were sweaty, even though it was one of the warmest days we’d had since I’d moved to Cherrybrook. I didn’t know what to do or where to go, I just wanted to run away from this weird mess I had somehow fallen in to.

I scanned the lumps of people in the quad. Luke, Luke, Luke. Where was he? Had he heard the story? I needed him to be here, to defend me against Coral.

‘He’s my dad, not my boyfriend,’ I said, still not able to raise my voice above a whisper. Coral and the masses were silent for a few moments, letting this new information sink in. Seconds later, Coral started to laugh uproariously. She shook her shoulders, her body heaving from the hilarity.

‘You’re sleeping with your father?’ she finally gasped. A malicious smile had spread across her face. ‘You really are a freak.’

‘I-I’m not sleeping with him!’ I managed to stutter. ‘You’ve got it wrong. He’s my Dad, end of story.’ I readjusted my schoolbag across my back and turned away from her, heading for the exit. I needed to talk to Luke, urgently, before he thought I was some sort of incestuous freak.

‘Ha! Not sleeping with him? Why, wouldn’t he have you?’

I stopped. The words cut me like the edge of a knife.

The voice belonged to Luke.

‘Luke, I can explain —’

‘He doesn’t need you to explain, loser,’ Coral said. I turned. He was standing beside her, his arm around her shoulder like I’d seen it so many times before. Why was he doing this? Why had he believed what Nick had said when he knew how I felt about him?

‘But…’ I trailed off. Luke looked at me, really looked at me, then slowly and deliberately pulled Coral toward him. He kissed her on the mouth, passionately and slowly.

My heart broke. I felt it hiccough into my throat and stick there. Tears fell from my eyes, but I couldn’t look away. It was like watching a car crash. Luke’s eyes were open the whole time. While he was kissing Coral, he was staring at me.

‘Let’s go.’ She said when they finally pulled their lips apart. She flicked her hair and flounced off, with Luke’s hand locked tightly in her own.

All around us, the quadrangle morphed back to normalcy. People started talking, staring, rifling through school bags, and eating, as if the unfolding drama was finished for the day.

I was shaking from head to toe. In the space of twenty minutes, I had lost my lover, my closest friend, and any chance I had of living a normal life without my stupid father.

I did the only thing I could do.

I ran.

I ran and ran, my legs pumping, my breath burning in my chest. At first, the path I followed was aimless, speeding down the main street and through the centre of town.

When I started to feel soft sand underneath my shoes, I took them off, running across the grainy surface that hadn’t seen tourists yet that day. I ran, and ran, and ran, until my breath caught in short gasps in my chest, and a stitch had formed in my side. I threw my bag on the ground, collapsing next to it. Sand was everywhere — my hair, my ears, my arms — but I didn’t care. It hurt. It all hurt too much.

‘Don’t cry.’ I opened my eyes. I looked up and saw Nick standing over me. He was panting, and I could see that his shirt was sweaty and sticking to him. He must have followed me all the way from school.

I hated him. He’d ruined everything I’d wanted for myself in this town.

‘Go away!’ I screamed.

‘Amy, calm down,’ he pleaded. He looked hurt. He bent his knees, as if he were about to sit, then thought better of it.

‘I’m perfectly calm,’ I said and took a deep breath. ‘And I never want to speak to you again.’

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I’d thought we had things in common, that somehow parts of us were the same. I’d thought we were friends.

I’d thought wrong.

I stood up, slung my schoolbag over my shoulder and started walking. I didn’t even bother dusting the sand off the backs of my legs.

He wasn’t following me, at least, and for that I was thankful. I headed in the direction of the one sanctuary I could claim as my own in this stupid town — my bedroom at Lou’s.

Thankfully, my aunt was at work, which meant I could be alone with my misery. I tumbled through the front door, leaving it wide open behind me. I didn’t care. What was there to care about anymore?

I threw my bag on the floor and flung open the shelves of Lou’s liquor cabinet. I grabbed a bottle of gin, a few different coloured bottles of wine, and ran straight up the stairs to my room.

I didn’t know how long I’d been crying for; all I knew was that my eyes stung and my heart ached. I cried at the humiliation I had suffered, at losing Luke, and at being alone, without anyone beside me. I cried at losing Lily, the one person I’d really been able to call a friend in this small town. I even cried at losing Nick, that I’d yelled at him, and at the hurt I’d seen in his eyes.

I took the cap off the first bottle and gulped down a huge mouthful. Liquid missed my mouth, dribbling down my chin. I wiped at it with the back of my sleeve. I didn’t care.

I just needed to drink and for this nothingness to end.

* * *

I didn’t go to school the next day, or the day after. I sat shut up in my room, coming down to raid the refrigerator only while Lou was at work. She’d come into my room a few times throughout the night, but I just ignored her, nodding where appropriate. The rest of the booze had gone from her stash, so I guessed she was onto me. I’d also had about 20 missed calls from Dad on my mobile. I ignored each and every one of them, just like I more or less ignored Lou. Life was too painful. I couldn’t deal with it.

Instead, I listened to a lot of music: old songs, songs that Mum and I used to sing while we would wait for Dad in the car during his concerts, before she’d died, and before Dad had stopped caring. No Elton John, though. He was officially banned from my playlist.

I drank. I drank a lot. I drank straight, I drank mixed, I didn’t care, I just drank. I’d get to the part in the each song where trying to imagine Mum’s voice singing along with mine would hurt too much, and then I’d take another almighty swig. The burn would hurt so good. I’d do that a few more times and then fall asleep, or pass out, and a few hours later I’d wake up and do it all over again.

I didn’t vomit, which was a pleasant surprise. That meant that I didn’t have vomit hair, so I didn’t need to shower. What was the point? I had no one to impress. Instead, I threw my long hair back into an elastic band, a style that used to horrify Mum. She’d always used a hair straightener.

God, she loved that hair straightener. I’d joked to Dad that we should bury her with it, but he didn’t get it. For a few weeks after she died, it was like he didn’t get anything I said, almost like I was speaking another language.

Then, one day, he did want to talk about it. Two months on, and he was all ‘let’s sit down and have a chat about how much we miss her.’ But by then, I had moved on and didn’t want to talk about it. Or, I did, but not with anyone I knew. I wanted to speak about it with a complete stranger, someone who wouldn’t be over-the-top sympathetic, and someone I wouldn’t feel guilty taking sympathy from because they hadn’t lost her like I did. When Dad or Lou had said it was hard for me, I’d look into their eyes and know what they really meant — it was hard for them.

So, I’d talked. I’d have a few drinks while Dad was onstage and go walk the hallways to find somebody to strike up a conversation with. Eventually, I’d slip in the fact my mum had just died.

Just. Funny how even now, four and a half months on, I still said just, like she’d only died yesterday.

Maybe it was because it still hurt like she did.