Inbetween Days (19 page)

‘Tea?'

Ma made us both a cup of tea and set one plain digestive biscuit on the side of my saucer. I didn't tell her that I preferred coffee now—I just sipped at the cup and dunked the biscuit and pretended to swallow. The biscuit broke away and sank to the bottom of the cup.

Ma stayed standing on the other side of the breakfast bar. ‘So…'

‘I just wanted to see you.' I put my elbows on the table, deliberately, to see if she'd react.

‘Do you need money? Is that it? Trudy says you're not handling this business of losing your job very well.' She picked up a tea towel and wiped over the spotless counter.

‘I don't want money.'

I wanted to grab the tea towel, give it the old twist and whip, and knock down the useless knick-knacks she had lined up on the shelf. They were all store-bought. Not a single piece of the ugly pottery I'd made had ever been put on that shelf; not one drawing had ever been stuck on the fridge. Ma loved me. I never doubted it. But why act like my stuff wasn't precious enough to display? Why wrap it in tissue paper and keep it in the shed? What kind of love was that?

‘How's Dad?'

‘Fine.'

‘Is he home?'

‘Out the back,' she said and jerked her head.

‘How do you stand it?'

‘You'll have to be more specific.' She gave the tea towel one last bored wipe, then folded it into a tight, precise rectangle.

I ground my eye teeth. My head was beginning to ache. ‘Do you and Dad even talk anymore?'

Two hot spots flared on her cheeks. ‘Your father is a good man. Find a nice boy, Jack,' Ma said. ‘I know what you've been up to. People talk. I hope you're using protection.'

Protection
. The kind I needed didn't come in a little foil packet.

‘So, if your behaviour at Christmas is anything to go by…'

‘I had a two-inch splinter stuck in my fucking leg!' I erupted.

‘Jacklin!'

‘What? It's not like I haven't heard you use that word. Monkey see, monkey do.'

‘Not my circus, not my monkey.' She slammed her empty cup into the sink. ‘You are supposedly an adult, Jack. Start behaving like one.'

There we were again, saying words but talking about nothing, both in the same room but on a different planet.

‘Is that it? That's all you've got?' I stood up.

‘Where are you going?'

I strode down the hallway. ‘My room. I left some things behind.' I reached the door and threw it open. The single bed was still in the same place, but there was nothing else that belonged to me.

Ma was right behind. ‘I cleaned it out,' she said.

I noticed Dad's jacket hanging from a knob on the wardrobe. ‘Dad's sleeping in here now, isn't he?' I turned on her. ‘Are you taking it out on him because you're angry I'm living with Trudy? God, you won't be happy until you drive all of us out of this house!'

She let out a slow hiss. ‘You dropped out of school. You chose to leave. I never tried to stop you, but it isn't what I wanted for you.'

‘Where's my stuff?'

‘In the shed. This isn't a halfway house, Jack.' She sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to smooth the tasselled fringe on the comforter. ‘You can't just come and go until you find a better place.'

‘I did find a better place.'

‘You think I was always this old,' she said. She stood, opened the wardrobe, and started refolding Dad's shirts.

On my way out, I drew a childish scribble on a Post-it and stuck it on Ma's fridge. I screwed up the tea towel and took a china bird from her shelf. The empty space would drive her nuts.

Mads picked me up halfway home. I'd wrapped my quilt around my shoulders like a cape and unwittingly dropped my pillow somewhere between Ma's house and the phone box. I was too tired and pissed off to turn back and look for it.

‘Trudy's half crazy with worry,' she said when I got in. ‘We didn't know where you'd gone last night.' She turned the car around and headed back to Trudy's.

‘I went to watch the New Year's fireworks at Burt. Were you on your way to work now? Won't you be late?'

‘I'm running early anyway. Who'd you go with?'

‘Jeremiah Jolley and Roland Bone.'

Mads raised her eyebrows. ‘I didn't know you guys hung out.'

‘We don't. Much.' I wound my window down. ‘What did you do?'

She shrugged. ‘Trudy and Thom went out somewhere. I pulled a late shift—I was home and in bed by two. Not my idea of fun. My partner in crime has been kind of busy lately.' She gave me a rueful smile. ‘She's obsessed.'

‘She's in love.'

‘I doubt that,' Mads said. ‘Nobody defends the heart quite so fiercely as your sister.' She pulled into the driveway. ‘A word of warning: she's been waiting up for you.'

My stomach twisted. I might have missed the fireworks last night, but this would make up for it.

Gypsy met me at the door for the first time in ages, trembling all over. She leaned against me and catalogued every scent. I rubbed her ears and mumbled words she couldn't hear.

‘When you have a minute,' Trudy said. I could only see her feet hanging over the end of the banana lounge.

I went straight to my room and threw my stuff onto the bed. I put Ma's china bird on the windowsill. My mood plummeted further. It was basically a coffin with greying paint and a stained ceiling. There was a foul smell in there, like something had died in the walls; it just needed shutters on the window and a plague of blowflies to make it the attic room from the
The Amityville Horror
. I opened the window. The smell followed me back into the hall.

‘I can't live like this,' I said. ‘My room is possessed.'

‘It's quite possibly your own questionable hygiene,' Trudy said and swung her legs off the couch.

‘Speaking of which, I need a shower. Like, yesterday.'

‘It can wait.'

‘It really can't.' I peeled off my shirt and dropped it. Trudy watched as I stepped out of my jeans right where I was standing. ‘What is it? You said a minute.'

Trudy's eyes bugged. ‘What the hell is
that
?'

‘What?' I looked down. My legs were covered in pale, purplish bruises, but I always marked easily. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

‘That thing on your shoulder. That's a last-night hickey.' She got up and pressed her finger into my collarbone.

I flinched and stepped back. ‘So?'

‘So who gave it to you? Where were you last night?'

‘How is that any of your business?'

‘It is my business. I'm your legal guardian.'

‘You are not and why do you even care?' I scooped up my clothes and went to the bathroom.

Trudy followed, her lips pressed so tight they'd disappeared. ‘I don't want to send you back to Ma but I don't see any other way. You're not the easiest person to get along with. You're self-destructing.'

‘You're such a hypocrite!' I yelled. ‘What is
wrong
with you people?' I turned on the hot tap and let it run. ‘Can I have some privacy, please?'

‘Just listen for once,' she pleaded. I was taken aback by her abrupt change of tone. ‘I wanted to protect you from all the shit I had to go through. I couldn't stand the thought of her, chipping away at your self-esteem like she did mine—but if you keep carrying on like this I'll have no choice.'

‘Is that a threat?' I said. ‘How do you know most of the shit didn't already happen while you were away? What if you were too late?'

‘It's not too late. Think about it, Jack.' She hovered in the doorway. The phone rang and she glanced over her shoulder. ‘It might be better for us both if you went back to Ma's. I didn't come home to find myself in the middle of another war.' She waited.

‘I can't change who I am.'

‘You can and you should,' Trudy said.

‘Get the phone,' I muttered. ‘It'll be for you anyway.' Steam clouded the mirror and Trudy's face. I stepped into the shower and she was gone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The drive-in became our secret project. It was something to do—with my mind, with my hands, and with other people who had nothing to do but kill time. But today Roly wasn't there and I knew it was somehow my fault.

Jeremiah was still waiting for Meredith to come home from hospital. I decided I was done waiting for Luke: I wouldn't meet him or call him again, not even to say goodbye. There was no point trying to end something that had never really begun.

For now there was the grey shadow in the corner of the screen to paint and, according to Jeremiah, the power to connect, the speakers to test and the projector to service. It was my job to check the globes inside the mushroom lights, too. We broke for a late lunch of sandwiches and cold thermos coffee at half past two.

‘So, what now?'

‘We have to turn on the electricity somehow,' Jeremiah said.

‘What if it's disconnected?'

‘It is, obviously, but I should be able to hook something up if it's still on the grid.'

‘Don't we need an electrician for that?'

He just grinned around the screwdriver he had clenched between his teeth.

‘What if you blow yourself up?'

‘Ah 'on't,' he said.

Summer beat on around us. Jeremiah worked steadily, trying to decipher the maze of wiring in the meter box. I stayed out of the way, in the shade inside the old kiosk and the projector room. I was useless for the technical stuff and the heavy lifting, so I cleaned and fetched drinks.

Jeremiah pulled up an old three-legged stool and bent over to poke around inside the projection equipment.

‘Stupid question,' I said, ‘but won't we need a film to get it running?'

‘It's not stupid,' he answered. ‘But I'm more worried about broken parts. I mean, if there's something missing I won't know what it is. It's like trying to complete a puzzle without a picture.' His voice echoed inside the contraption.

‘We could ask Alby. He's a walking history book. Maybe there's an archive at the library or something.'

‘Then people will find out what we're doing up here.' He poked his head out. Spiderwebs had turned his hair grey. ‘If nobody but you, me and Roly knows then we're not likely to run into any opposition. I'll work it out.'

I hoisted myself onto the bench. ‘Why didn't Roly come?'

Jeremiah shrugged. ‘He said he was busy.' He brushed himself off. ‘I'm going to see if I can find the connection out on the road. Wait here and don't touch anything.'

‘Roger.' I gave him a salute. ‘But shouldn't we have a distress signal?'

‘I'd say the smell of burning flesh would be unmistakeable.'

‘Don't say that!' I reached out and put my hand on his forearm. The cords of muscle underneath jumped. ‘Be careful.' I squeezed.

Jeremiah reacted as if I'd stubbed a lit cigarette out on his skin: he snatched his arm back and muttered something about it getting dark soon. I watched him make his way down to the road and nursed my hurt.

Don't touch anything
, he'd said.

I stared at my hands. They were just ordinary hands—they didn't seem capable of provoking such a strong reaction.

He was gone for a long time.

I climbed up to the platform and started painting over the shadow in the corner. The areas we'd already painted were beginning to peel and millions of tiny bugs had stuck to the wet paint and died. I gave it two coats but a hard, pelting rain came from nowhere and I ran back to the kiosk for cover. From the shelter of the doorway I watched the paint wash away in streaks. The now-familiar shadow appeared again.

It was useless, like trying to give mouth-to-mouth to someone long dead.

I chucked the paintbrush into a bush. Jeremiah was out there standing in a puddle, playing with electricity. My nerves were completely shot.

Something whirred in the far corner of the room. I lifted a piece of sacking; beneath it, a fan inside a metal cage was spinning fast. It took a few seconds to sink in. The power was on. I flicked a light switch but nothing happened. I tried a different one and the globe outside the door popped and blew.

The rain came down in buckets. The gutters groaned and overflowed. I ran outside, jumping the white river that had sprung from underneath the bush. Wet, broken chunks of asphalt winked like fool's gold and I counted nine out of thirty-four mushroom lights, glowing in the dusk. I fiddled with the dial on the nearest speaker. It crackled and spat static. Elated, I punched the air and searched the haze obscuring the driveway out to the main road.

After a few minutes, Jeremiah appeared, hunched against needles of rain.

‘You did it!' I raised the crackling speaker as a boom of thunder rolled over the top of the ridge.

‘You'll be Frankenstein's bride if you don't put that thing down.' He took it from me and set it back in its cradle.

We ran, jumping puddles and leapfrogging speaker-posts. We sat up on the platform, admiring our wonderland, uncaring that we were soaked through. A broad patch of shadowy forest separated us from the lights of Mobius, spread out like a circuit board below; a spectacular storm passed right overhead with sheet lightning and bursts of rain that sounded like applause.

‘Look at it,' I pointed across the valley to the black hole of Pryor Ridge. The rain had become a mist. Our skin steamed. ‘Why do you think they go there?'

‘Who? The doers or the watchers?'

‘The watchers, I guess.' Again, I thought of Pope but I kept it to myself. Which was he?

‘I don't know—maybe it's as close as they can get without stepping off the ledge themselves. Death is life-affirming for some people.'

‘That's horrible.'

Jeremiah shrugged. ‘It's nothing new. In the eighteenth century, the Georgians used to pay entry to asylums so they could ogle the insane. Public hangings drew packed crowds. Do people stand on the Golden Gate Bridge and wonder at the brilliance of its engineering? No, they peer over the edge. This whole area is so rich in gold-mining history. We should wonder at the tenacity of humans who had no business being that far underground with fuck-all else but a shovel, a pick and a dream. But no, instead people come to see where other people came to die.' He threw up his hands. ‘It's such a waste of curiosity.'