Give Me Truth (11 page)

Lanny drops me at the supermarket, as I ask him to. I need to walk, to sort things out in my mind. He toots the horn and waves as he and Hunny disappear. It should be the worst day of my life, with my parents' separation becoming official, but Lanny has saved me. He seems to be always doing that. I'm thinking of him, not Mum or Dad, when the mobile cuts into my thoughts.

‘Caitlin?'

‘Mum …'

‘We need you here. Rory's gone.'

‘What do you mean, gone?'

‘He's run away from home!'

‘What? Are you sure? He wouldn't do – '

‘I'm sure! He left a note on his bed! Of course I'm sure!'

Mum's nurse-in-control tone is torn to shreds.

The next voice is Dad's.

‘I don't think it's anything serious, Caitlin – kids run away from home all the time – but your mum's a little worried.'

Dad's always been a master at understatement.

‘Where are you and we'll pick you up? We're leaving home now.'

In under a minute the car pulls alongside me. As soon as I'm inside it Mum hands me Rory's note.

I hate Dad goen. Im not cummen back.

‘The little – why didn't he say something to me? How long has he been gone?'

Dad answers me. ‘We think about half an hour. We've rung his friends but no one's seen him.'

‘I'm sure he won't have gone far,' Mum says. ‘I just feel terrible that he would be driven to do something like this. I had no idea he was so upset – but I
should
have known – I should have made it my business to know.'

I tell her she's talking garbage, but she's not. None of us has seen this coming because we weren't looking. We'd forgotten Rory had feelings. And I'm the worst offender of all.

‘What are you doing, Alan?'

Dad had stopped the car.

‘We can't just drive around blindly, Denise. Let's think about this.'

‘Just drive! Drive, will you? He has to be walking, doesn't he? So drive and we'll find him!'

Come on
, I tell myself. Think like an eight-year-old. What would he do? Where would he go? One answer jumps out at me.

‘The basketball courts,' I say. ‘In the school grounds. We should try there first.'

Dad nods and we're on our way.

Dad parks at a crazy angle and no one cares. Mum doesn't even shut her door. She's out and yelling Rory's name but already we can clearly see that the basketball courts are empty.

‘He's not here, Denise.' Dad tries to catch Mum's hand but she wrenches it away.

‘Damn you, Alan! You haven't even looked!'

‘But Rory's not here. That's obvious.'

‘Then where the hell is he?'

Mum's words are met by a sudden gust of wind, howling through the courts, scattering leaves and papers and coldness.

‘Now it's going to rain. Fantastic!' She slumps against the chain wire fence. ‘Rory! Damn you! Where are you? Rory!'

‘Try to calm down, Denise. Getting hysterical isn't going to help.'

‘Hysterical!'

Mum looks like she wants to punch him. I can understand that.

‘She's allowed to be hysterical if she wants to,' I say. ‘It's not like she's lost her car keys, Dad.'

Gratefully, Mum holds out her arms and I walk into them. Inside her arms is more a home to me than any four walls and roof could ever be. I haven't felt this close to her for so long.

‘We should walk around the school,' Dad suggests, deftly changing the subject. ‘He could be in a doorway or something, trying to get warm.'

Mum is more than happy to snatch up any sliver of hope.

‘Yes, that's a good idea. Let's go.'

We run up the steps leading to the school buildings. I reach the top first. A torchlight shines directly at me. One step after me Mum and Dad see it, too. It has to be Rory.

‘What's going on, folks? This is private property, you know.' A security guard approaches us warily. ‘You're not supposed to be here.'

‘I'm looking for my son. Have you seen him? He's eight. Um – brown hair, fairly sturdy little boy – ' Mum turns back to Dad. ‘He'd be wearing his yellow coat, wouldn't he, Alan?'

Dad scratches behind his ear. He never notices what anyone wears. ‘Probably,' he says.

I confirm it for her.

‘Yes, Mum. It's Rory's favourite coat. He'd be wearing it for sure.'

She looks hopefully at the guard.

‘No. Sorry, luv. I've just done my rounds. He's definitely not here.'

‘Could we just have a look around? He likes basketball and he was upset so we thought …'

‘Yeah, sure. Go for your life, luv. Take all the time you need. Wander around as much as you like. But fair dinkum, if your boy was here I woulda seen him. Have you tried …'

As they talk the moon throws its searchlight over the cemetery on the hill behind the courts. The headstones look like a jumbled mass of rotting teeth. Dad's attention is drawn to them too. He stares as if he can hear them calling him.

‘Denise,' he touches Mum's arm, ‘I have an idea.'

The ground is uneven. Mum stumbles and Dad is quickly beside her.

‘You okay?'

‘Yes, yes. Keep going.'

It strikes me as a hopeful sign – that he is concerned, that she doesn't swear at him. And then they run beside each other; Dad staying with her to make sure she's okay, Mum letting him. I know I'm probably reading too much into it, but I'm desperate for good news. Like Mum did before, I snaffle it up.

We're panting when we reach the top of the hill. Dad ducks through a hole in the fence and we follow. Then we're running down pathways, graves on each side of us, running with no direction until I hear a familiar
bounce, bounce
.

‘This way!'

Dad says, ‘Rory.'

Rory says, ‘Aaarggh!'

‘It's all right, honey.' Mum throws her arms around him. ‘Don't be scared. It's only us.'

Rory squirms free and pushes himself against Dad.

‘I'm not goin' home. You can't make me.'

I try: ‘Come on, Rore. I've got a delicious box of chocolates at home – you can have them all.'

‘No!'

Mum tries: ‘What's wrong, hon? You tell me and I'll fix it for you.'

‘Why does Dad have to go away?'

She is stumped for an answer. Me too.

Dad squats down in front of Rory. For once he bypasses the committee and answers directly. ‘Because I broke a promise to Mum,' he says. ‘A very big promise. It's like … you know how when you're little you might be sent to your room if you've done something bad?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Well, when grown-ups do something really bad, sometimes they have to go away. Do you understand now, Rory?'

‘Not really. I thought if you break a promise, all you have to do is say sorry and then it's all right again. Isn't that what you told me, Mum?'

‘Oh, Rory. I wish it was like that all the time. It's different for grown-ups.'

She hugs him and this time there's no hope of him getting away.

‘We'll talk about this when we get you home,' she says. ‘Come on, now. It's going to rain at any minute.'

He shakes his head. ‘I don't like it when youse fight and yell. It's better here.'

Now Mum kneels beside Dad. It looks like they're both praying to the angel. Maybe they are.

‘I promise you,' Mum strokes Rory's hair, ‘when we get home we'll have a big long talk about this. We'll see if we can work something out to make you happy.'

And Dad – no doubt with some angelic inspiration – adds: ‘And I'll never break another promise to Mum. Okay?'

‘Okay … but Dad?'

‘Yes?'

‘Will I get into trouble for havin' a lend of your mobile?' He hands it back. ‘I was callin' you but no one was there.'

Mum and Dad smile together. When he isn't being bratty – which I have to admit isn't all that often – Rory can be a cute kid.

‘No, mate,' Dad says. ‘You're not in trouble. Not a bit. You want to come home now?'

‘Will you give me a piggyback?'

‘You betcha.'

‘All right. But can we play basketball first?'

Mum glances at the sky, and shivers. ‘Now? '

‘Yeah, Mum.'

‘But sweetie, it's going to rain.'

Dad looks almost as hopeful as Rory. Playing in the rain is definitely a boy thing

Mum relents. ‘Yes. Sure. We can do that – just for you.'

‘We haven't done anything together for a while.' Dad is beaming. ‘This is going to be fun.'

Right now, anything we do together is fun to me. Bring on the rain, I don't care. Nothing can knock me down as Dad hoists Rory onto his shoulders and we leave the cemetery behind us. Soon we're at the courts. The moment Rory jumps from Dad's back he's off and racing, bouncing the ball as he goes.

‘Come on! Come on! Let's play!'

So here we are, the Stewart Family, at ten o'clock at night, playing basketball. It's good to run because it warms me up, but within minutes of us starting, the rain pelts down. Rory watches Mum and Dad, waiting for one or both of them to call a halt to this insanity. They don't.

‘We can't get any wetter than we are,' Dad reasons.

Mum doesn't need convincing. She drops her head back and opens her mouth, tasting the rain and the moment.

Rory tugs at her sleeve: ‘Are you playin', Mum, or what?'

There's so much water running down my face and in my eyes that I'm having trouble seeing the ball, but that doesn't matter. It's enough that I can see Mum and Dad and Rory splashing through the puddles, each of them like little kids. And the harder the rain falls, the more we laugh. At one point we can't hear anything except the pounding waterfall being tipped on us. It's one of those times you want to remember.

Rory's imagination hits overdrive. He's giving us a commentary of the game and naturally he's the star.

‘And now Rory's got the ball! He's passing player after player! The fans are going crazy!'

The net is so close and Mum's the only obstacle. Too easy! Rory leaves her flat-footed. Goal!

‘Did you see that?' Rory grabs my arm. ‘Did you see it?'

‘See what?'

‘No! You did so see it, Kadey! You're just saying that! She saw it, didn't she, Mum?'

Mum stands there, sodden wet, her hair plastered down, clothes clinging to her. More alive than I've ever seen her. She shares a look with Dad. Just happiness. I know it can't last. It can't possibly last. But while it's there – for a few seconds, if nothing else – I take the moment and hold it.