Letters to Leonardo (18 page)

I read somewhere that he was always broke because he had to feed and clothe his students. Don’t reckon any of our teachers are that dedicated
.

Mrs D is being a regular pain at the moment. Wants to know where my “letters to Leonardo” are
.

I’m not lying when I say I’ve written them – but seriously, most of this stuff is none of her business
.

Matt

I accidentally let slip at breakfast that Mum promised to come over and didn’t turn up.

Dad has
that
look on his face again.

Mum rushes in after breakfast.

“I’m so sorry, Matty,” she says. “I had one of my terrible migraines.” That explains the darkness. “I should be right for tonight. That’s if you don’t have anything else on.”

While she’s here, Dad doesn’t say anything. He hides behind his newspaper and pretends he’s not listening.

But after she leaves, he says, “Don’t hold your breath, Matt. She’s notoriously unreliable.”

He should talk! He’s the one who lied to me for ten years.

I know she’ll come this time.

My first class with Steve Bridges is a blast. He’s mad about painting.

“I’d like to be an artist,” I say. “Maybe go to uni.”

“I went there,” says Steve.

“I bet you learned heaps.”

Steve laughs. “Learned more about how to party than how to paint.”

Steve works in the art shop so he can get his materials cheap. Reckons he’d rather be painting full time.

I wish I could be more like Steve. Make my own choices. He wears what he wants and has a ring through his nose. His hair is halfway down his back. He has to tie it back when he paints.

Dad doesn’t like long hair on men. Says most blokes don’t look after long hair properly and it ends up looking revolting. I reckon that’s one of the reasons he never wanted me doing Steve’s art classes. Worried he’d be a bad influence.

Mum’s not like that. She wouldn’t care if a person had two heads and a tail.

She said the other day that you have to look at people as if you are going to paint them. When you’re painting someone you can’t just paint what you see. You have to peel back the layers and look at what’s really on the inside. I like the idea of that.

I reckon that’s what Leonardo did with the
Mona Lisa
– only he didn’t quite reveal everything – or maybe his subject kept part of herself hidden.

Steve’s first lesson is about viewpoint. He says, “Before you even start painting, you have to decide which angle you’re going to take it from, and what part of the object you’re going to focus on.”

When I get home, my head spins with all the stuff Steve taught me.

I can’t wait to tell Mum all about it.

Only she doesn’t show again.

Next morning at breakfast, I’m in a foul mood. I reckon Dad knows why, but he doesn’t say anything. No apology from Mum this time. What’s her game?

It’s hard to concentrate at school. My mind keeps coming up with scenarios as to why Mum never showed – and none of them are good.

I drift through the morning in a haze. Don’t even react when Mrs D makes one of her dry comments about my incomplete History homework.

In Science we pair up to work on an assignment. Troy and I decide to do ours on the solar system.

“We could study black holes. I know a lot about them already.”

“Nah, I want to learn about the Seven Sisters.” Troy’s eyes light up. “I like women.”

“Too bad, I’ve had enough of women at the moment.”

In the end, we decide to do our assignment on Pluto, and how it got demoted from being a planet.

“Can we work at your place?” asks Troy.

“If you want, but don’t expect chocolate cake.”

“I won’t. But it should be quieter without Angie and her friends.”

As the school bus pulls up near our house, I see a row of cars parked outside.

“Hey look, Matt!” Troy points to a sign on the front gate. “Garage Giveaway. Free To The Needy.”

A woman gets out of a white Mercedes. She doesn’t look needy. She’s dressed in a white suit and she’s wearing dangling gold earrings.

Mum’s there, wearing one of her flowing dresses, smiling brightly. She looks like a celebrity greeting her fans – like she’s waiting for someone to roll out the red carpet.

She hands over my portable TV to the woman in the white suit.

I run forward. “Mum, what are you doing?”

“Having a Garage Giveaway. Isn’t it fun?” Mum’s face is shiny. “Out with the old. In with the new. That’s my motto,” she tells the woman carrying the TV.

Mum looks behind her at the peeling weatherboards and sunken verandah on our house. “A complete makeover. That’s what this place needs – inside and out.” She turns to Troy. “Don’t you agree?”

The rich lady is putting my TV into the back of her car. I run over to her. “Excuse me. Look, I’m really sorry. But that’s my TV.”

“Your TV? But that lady said I could have it.”

Doesn’t she think it strange that someone wants to give away brand-new stuff? I feel my face go red. I stare down at my shoes. “Mum didn’t realise it was mine.”

“I see.” The woman reaches into the boot, picks up the TV and thrusts it at me. “You’d better have it back then.”

“I’m really sorry,” I mumble.

I carry the TV back to the house. Maybe I should have just let it go. For once Troy doesn’t have anything to say. His mouth and eyes are like egg rings.

When I get to the front door, Mum confronts me, hands on hips, her face creased with confusion.

“What are you doing with that?” she asks.

“It’s mine, Mum.”

She looks surprised. “But that lady was so lovely. I thought you’d want her to have it. I’m getting you a new one anyway.”

“It was practically new, Mum. Dad got it for me last Christmas.”

Mum’s hands slip off her hips. “Was it?” she says. For a moment she looks puzzled then her face brightens again. “Well, I want you to have one that I bought for you. I’m going to get you all new stuff.”

The kitchen table is set up on the front lawn. My telescope’s still there and my digital camera. Not much of my stuff has gone.

Mum’s acting so strange. I want to ask her what she gave away, but I don’t want to make her mad. “Garage Giveaway just started?” I ask.

She nods. “But it was going so well. I gave your iPod to a lovely young boy. He was thrilled. Wanted the telescope too, but couldn’t carry it on his bike.”

Shame about that!

“So what else did you give away?”

“A couple of your father’s daggy old suits.”

No loss there.

“Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. But it doesn’t matter. Like I told you, out with the old, in with the new.”

“But who’s going to pay for it all?”

Troy picks up my telescope and starts to carry it back into the house.

Mum looks at me crossly. “You sound just like your father.” She pouts. “But since you ask, I’m going to pay for it.”

“What with? I thought you didn’t have any money.”

“Not yet. But I will. The National Gallery’s going to buy two of my new paintings.”

I haven’t thought of that. Of course she’ll have money if she sells some of her work. I want to be happy for her, so I paste on an enthusiastic smile. “Really? That’s fantastic! Which ones?”

“Well, they haven’t exactly signed on the dotted line yet,” Mum says quickly. Then she smiles at me. “But I’m sure they will – when they see them.”

“What new paintings?” whispers Troy, who is back outside, collecting more stuff. “She hasn’t done any since she’s been here, has she?”

I glare at him and then turn back to Mum. “Come on, Mum,” I say. “We’d better put this stuff back.”

I carry CDs and the stuff from my wardrobe into the house. Troy picks up a box full of plates and cups and follows me.

It’s not until Mum’s gone that I realise I haven’t asked her where she was last night. Then again, I think I already know the answer.

The next day at school Troy asks if Mum’s okay.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“That was seriously bizarre behaviour, man. Giving your stuff away like that. I’d be pretty ticked off with my mum if she tried that sort of thing.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well, I don’t think she realised what she was doing.”

“Your mum sure is a strange one.” Troy grins.

I can’t see the funny side. It’s easy for Troy to smile. It’s not his mother. He’s always had the perfect family. The biggest issue he has to deal with is whether the Sunday roast is going to be lamb or pork.

“Shut up, idiot. Who asked you?” I say.

“Nice one, mate. What are you giving me a hard time for? I’m not the one who tried to sell your stuff. I’m only trying to help.”

I don’t want his help! I just want everything to be normal. I want him to leave me alone, but I can’t say it. He’s been my best mate forever – he’s the one who helped me through all this stuff when I first found out she was alive. I turn away.

“What’s with her, Matt? I thought everything was working out well for you guys.”

“I dunno. I’ve never seen her like this.”

“What, off her tree?”

“Get stuffed!”

We’re sitting behind the shelter shed. I pick up a stone and fling it at the wall. I wait for the thud.

Troy stands up. “Sorry, mate.”

I feel the tightness in my stomach. The feeling that has come and gone ever since I read those articles in the paper and the memories started coming back to me. I wish I could ignore it, but it’s like a thread that somebody is drawing tighter.

There’s a voice in the back of my head that keeps whispering, “Maybe Dad’s right. Bringing Mum into our lives isn’t proving to be the best idea.”

I lied to Troy. I have seen her like this before – not that long ago either. At the school play when she made her donation to the arts fund. Dave was right then too.

“If it was me,” says Troy, “I’d be taking her to see someone. She needs help. You know my mum’s a counsellor – maybe she can talk to her.”

“Mum has medication. Reckons she’s taking it, but I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t look like it. That’s just plain crazy, giving all your stuff away.”

I get to my feet and kick the dirt. The thread in my stomach pulls tighter. “She’s not crazy. Don’t you ever say she’s crazy!”

Troy backs away from the flying dust. “I know she’s not crazy, mate. She’s sick. Mum says that people are born with this sort of stuff. It’s not their fault. Just that their brains are wired differently. Like Dr Frankenstein.”

I kick the dirt harder. “She’s nothing like that. Frankenstein wasn’t even real.”

“Okay, bad example. But I still reckon I’d be taking her to see someone if I was you.”

“You’re not me, are you?” I pick up my pack and take off across the asphalt, with Troy’s quick steps echoing behind me.