Gracie Faltrain Takes Control (16 page)

Everything's unravelling tonight. I could tell you it's like a ball of wool or string, or something. But I think a better description would be to say that everything's unravelling like Gracie Faltrain's life. I'm back at the beginning of the end of the last season. Again.

There are more lights on in the house than I've ever seen before. It's like Mr Knight's worried that Martin will forget where he lives and need some reminding. ‘Come in, love,' he says when he opens the door. He shakes Mum and Dad's hands and thanks them for coming.

Even though I've never met Mrs Knight, I always thought Martin was more like her than like his dad. I guess that was because Martin was always telling me stuff she'd said about soccer, about life, and he always seemed to be trying to do what she told him. All those things she said don't add up to much, though. ‘Live like you play, Marty. Everyone's desperate for something. You become who you set out to be, Marty.' She left him with a whole life to live and a bunch of sayings to work out how to do it. Mr Knight did the rest.

He's polite to me and I don't understand why. If someone had forced Martin out of my life I'd be angry. I'd shout. Punch. Kick. They wouldn't deserve anything else. He takes my jacket and shows me into the lounge.

‘Gracie, Bill, Helen, this is Constable Rick Blythe. Gracie is Martin's best friend.'

Was, I think as I nod at Mr Blythe.

‘I was just saying, I can take down any information that you have, and circulate a description, but there's not a lot we can do. Martin's almost eighteen. All the evidence suggests that he has run away.' He flips open a notebook. ‘Do you know what happened to Martin, Gracie?'

‘No.'

‘When did you last see him?'

‘Saturday.'

‘Did he say anything to you about where he might be going?'

‘We weren't speaking. He was angry at me because . . .' I take a quick glance at Mr Knight. ‘I tried to look for his mum and he didn't want me to.'

‘Did you find her?'

‘She sent a letter. At least I think it was her. Martin kept it.'

‘Is it possible that he would try to make contact?'

‘I don't think so. He was angry at me because he didn't want to have anything to do with her.'

‘Still, it's worth checking. Did the letter have a number or an address?'

‘It did, but I didn't keep a copy.'

‘Maybe the paper . . .' Mr Knight says, his eyes hopeful.

‘They won't have read the replies; just forwarded them on. We can try, though. I take it you don't have contact with your ex-wife, Mr Knight?'

‘I haven't heard from her since the day she left. I have no idea how to find her.'

‘I do,' Mum says. ‘I read the letter, and took down the number.' She turns to me. ‘Call it instinct, Gracie. I had a feeling you might need a little help.'

Call it instinct. Call it Helen Faltrain. Call it anything you like. Just call that woman.

Mr Knight puts his head in his hands after the policeman leaves. I don't say sorry, because it's such a tiny word and it won't be big enough to cover the hole I've made.

‘I tried to find her, too, after she left,' he says after a while. ‘Martin was still a kid. She didn't want to be found then, I guess.' There's not enough voice in him to make more than a whisper. I want him to get angry, to tell me I'm stupid, that it's my fault Martin's gone, so that everything is out in the open and I can feel better. But he doesn't.

I look around the lounge. The couch is new. The chairs are as well. I was with Martin when the family picked them out. I'd forgotten about that day until now. Karen looked like we were all going on a holiday when we got in the car. She was so happy, and I thought it was sad that something so small could make her that excited.

But I guess the couch and chairs were a sign that they were all together, and planning on staying that way for a while. A kind of promise from her dad. The rest of the place looks tired and old. It probably hasn't changed all that much since Mrs Knight left.

Karen must have felt so happy after the Championships because her dad started moving through the water, wading forwards. And then I come along and sink him and she loses it all again. For everyone's sake, I wish I could say something to hold Mr Knight's head above the current. I can see now that he only has the energy to float, and that Martin leaving will be too heavy for him.

‘Anyone want a cup of tea?' I ask. They all nod, and I go into the kitchen for some air, some space from the things I've done. I'm dunking the last tea bag when I hear a chair pull out behind me. Karen is sitting, watching me, her head resting on her hands. Her eyes seem bigger today. Big enough to get lost
in. ‘Is he coming back, Gracie?' she asks.

I stop dunking. I know I should answer, but I can't, because I keep thinking about who she reminds me of, with those sad, wide eyes, and her small voice.

‘Gracie?'

She's Martin. All those years ago. Before I knew him. And just like that I step right into his life, into this kitchen with the faded yellow paint on the walls and the table full of cuts and knocks. I imagine him coming home that day, staring at her apron, hanging on the back of the door, still smelling of her, still full of her shape. I see Martin, a kid like Karen, with his head resting in his hands. ‘Is she coming home, Dad?'

‘I don't know, Karen,' I say. ‘I hope so.'

People's lives shouldn't loop like this. It's not fair. And I'm the one who set the escalator on go.

‘You didn't make this mess,' Mr Knight says before we leave. ‘It was here long before you arrived.' Maybe, but I made it worse. And somewhere Martin is hurting because of it.

‘Why were you so late tonight?' Dad asks while we're driving home.

‘I got into a fight. With Andrew Flemming.'

‘A fight?' Dad spins around and checks for damage.

‘It wasn't his fault. I started it.'

‘Why, baby?'

I finally let myself cry. ‘Because if I get what I deserve, then maybe Martin will come back.'

‘Oh, Gracie. Haven't you learnt by now?' Mum asks. ‘No one deserves to be hit. Whatever you've done, you don't ever deserve to be hit.'

 

All night I think about Martin's dad. I keep wondering what he'll say to his ex-wife if they speak. I can't think of a sentence long enough that will fill the time she left.

I don't want to leave all that space between me and the people I love. I can't talk to Martin, but at least I can try to fix things with Alyce. I can surrender my dignity and tell Jane that I need her, that her friendship is too important to throw away without even trying to save it.

‘Mrs Iranian? Is Jane home?' I ask when I call on Wednesday morning.

‘Gracie, it's good to hear from you. We were beginning to think you'd run away.' Some jokes just aren't funny, Mrs Iranian.

‘No, I'm still here. Can I speak to Jane?'

‘Hang on a minute, love. I'll get her for you.'

‘Faltrain, what's up?' Her voice is clipped and short.

‘I wanted to talk.'

‘Let me guess. Something's wrong and you need help.'

‘It is, Jane. Things are really, really bad.'

‘Faltrain, why should I care what's wrong in your life when you couldn't care less what's happening in mine?'

‘What? That's not fair.' I'm not the one who walked away. ‘I care.'

‘But you didn't care enough to call me back. I told you I needed to talk and you ignored me.'

‘That's not why I didn't call. I thought you were busy with other stuff.'

‘Other stuff ?'

‘You know, stuff other than me.'

‘I was. I was busy with my life that exists away from you. If a tree falls in a forest and Gracie Faltrain doesn't hear it, you think it doesn't still fall?'

It's not like Jane to be cruel. ‘Why are you so mad?'

‘I'll say this slowly, so you'll understand. I have a life over here. In England. And it goes wrong just as much as yours does.'

‘I doubt that . . .'

‘Believe me, it does. And I've been trying to tell you about it for months, but you never listen.'

‘Yes I do.'

‘If I can find a gap in the conversation. Every time I try to tell you anything you cut me off and go on and on about Alyce and Martin and Flemming and Annabelle . . .'

‘Are you jealous?' I ask.

‘This is not about me being jealous.'

And then she's crying, and she's so far away. Jane never gets upset like this. She says stuff like, ‘Suck it up, Faltrain,' when I get out of control. She's making up for lost time, today, hiccupping and snorting and choking, all together.

‘When was the last time you asked me about me, Faltrain?'

I think. Believe me, I think hard. I want to be able to give her a time and date, to prove that after eleven years I'm as good at being a best friend as she is.

‘I want to ask. I just forget, I guess. But that's not why I didn't call you again. I thought you didn't need me anymore . . .' My words drift on that ocean of silence sitting between us.

Of course, it's easy to see now. I'm an idiot. In a million
years Jane would never dump me. She's been there for me in every major event of my life. And the second she needed me, I bailed. That's crap. It's worse.

‘What's crappier than crap, Jane?' I ask, hoping for a laugh to ease the tension.

‘Gracie Faltrain?' she says.

‘I guess I messed up. I'm sorry.' I've said that word a million times; half a million of them have been in the last few days. When you're really sorry, though, it's more than a word. It's a feeling in your chest heavy as rocks. You want to rip open your skin and empty them out.

‘Why didn't you just tell me how dumb I was being, Jane? You have before. You know sometimes I'm an idiot.' Jane's always the one to pull me back when I've gone too far.

‘I needed you to get it this time, Faltrain. I needed my best friend without having to ask for her.'

‘I'm here now. Will you tell me what happened?'

I can feel her sigh from here. ‘Life's so bad at the moment. I don't have anyone, and you've got Alyce and Martin and Flemming and Annabelle.'

‘Annabelle?'

‘Yeah, I even miss Annabelle Orion. That's how awful it is over here.'

‘I thought things were okay. I thought you had heaps of friends.' So many you didn't need me.

‘I did, at first. I fitted in because I was the new kid and I had this accent that everyone thought was funny. And then I guess I got a bit too popular, maybe, or one day I said the wrong thing . . . I don't know. But this year a girl called Veronica White started spreading rumours about me.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like I thought I was too good for everyone over here. Stuff like that, nothing big. But Faltrain, it only took a day for everyone to leave me. Twenty-four hours and I went from top of the charts to zero. It made me see that I don't have any real friends.'

‘You have me.'

‘It doesn't feel like it. I haven't had anyone to talk to in months. Do you know what that's like, Faltrain?'

No. I've always had her. Or Alyce. Or Martin.

‘And you haven't even heard the worst of it. Veronica came up to me last month, and said she wanted to be friends again. She told me that Alexander Hood was dying to go out with me. And when I turned up for the date, half the kids in my class were there to watch me get stood up.'

‘The oldest trick in the book,' I say.

‘I know. It's in one in three teen movies.'

‘I think it's closer to one in two.'

‘And I fell for it. Hook, line, and sinking fast.' Jane sighs. ‘I heard her say to the other kids that I deserved it. That I think I'm better than anyone else. I'm the butt of everyone's jokes, now. I spend every lunch in the library.'

‘That sucks,' I say.

‘You don't need to tell me that. I was mad at Veronica for a while, but then Mum said something that made a whole lot of sense. She told me that the Veronica Whites and the Annabelle Orions of the world are idiots. “They're the ones missing out, Janey. The world's three-dimensional. And they only see the surface. Anything deeper makes them scared.”'

It hits me then that Jane and Alyce do have a whole lot in common after all, more than I do with either of them. Not because they're both hanging out in the library, but because they have the same way of looking at things.

People should be able to see the world from whatever angle they want. As long as they're not blocking anyone else's view. The stupid thing is, most of the time it's the loudest, roughest ones who get to see everything. People like Annabelle and Veronica and me, we elbow our way to the front, and get it all, the mountains, the oceans, the sky, the grass. And what do we do with it? We have a quick look and then turn around and laugh at the people who are standing at the back.