One True Thing (9 page)

‘Hey,' Jake says.

‘Hey.'

‘Listen, I don't have long.' He glances up at the girls disappearing into the twilit night, still oblivious, still somehow alone, despite the smattering of pedestrians passing either side of them and the slow-moving traffic navigating peak hour.

I turn to face him, preparing the words in my head. He's watching me expectantly, so I dive in. ‘Don't worry about the other night,' I say.

He places his finger on my lips. ‘I want to show you something.'

I pull away a little, starting to say no.

‘Not now,' he says. A smile spreads across his face. ‘I don't even want to know what you were thinking then.'

I blush despite myself. ‘I was
thinking
that I'm glad you're at College Park High. That you're a nice guy. But –'

‘Please. Don't say anything yet, not after the “but”. Just …'

‘What?'

He searches my face. ‘There's a show I want to take you to.'

‘A show?' I try to remember who's in town right now. Pearl Jam isn't here for weeks. There's some big boy band hanging around but it's not my thing. ‘Who?'

‘Not who.
What
.'

I pause, curious. ‘Keep talking.'

‘Trust me.'

The air is cooling as the darkness closes in. I need to get home. I have homework, and Tyler's idea has opened up some possibilities for the new song. ‘When?'

His smile is so bright that I could cover his mouth and still see it clear in his eyes. ‘Thursday – after school.'

‘You're not working at the restaurant?'

‘No, not Thursday. Tonight, though. The rest of the week too.'

‘Okay,' I say finally.

He hesitates, and I think maybe he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, which is more confusing than ever.

I continue home, following in Tyler and Kessie's footsteps, the fact they didn't wait for me a little less
annoying. And it's only as I open the front door that I remember why Thursday is the worst possible time: it's the night of the Leadership Debate – one of the biggest events on the campaign calendar. And I'm meant to be there.

I cross my legs and then uncross them, trying to get comfortable on the couch. I've got my guitar on my lap, my headphones plugged into it so all anyone else can hear is the dry twang of metal chords without the music. But I can hear and it's not as smooth as I'd like.

The late edition of the ABC news is on, but Mum's only half-watching while she scans the latest issue of
The Economist
. Mum's senior staff were here when I got home for some prep meeting for the debate, involving Sarah pretending to be the Opposition Leader, Christie pretending to be the moderator, and Harry barking out corrections. I'm not really sure how that all helps, but soon after I got back Mum declared herself ready and sent them
home. So now she's ‘relaxing' with some light reading on macro-economics and global fiscal responsibility.

The Leadership Debate has been the focus all week, and it's all anyone here can talk about. Luke scored big time, his school camp coinciding with the most boring week in the campaign – maybe in the world – and the most tense. Harry says it's make or break. Mum's usually great at this stuff, but the problem with being really good is that you have to do more than win to make an impression on the voters. The underdog has an easier task – they just have to do reasonably well. Basically, avoid screwing up. But the star? The champion? They have to blitz. Apparently it's all about expectations. The less the viewer expects, the easier it is to win. The more the viewer expects from you, the easier it is to lose, even if you perform better than your opponent. It's about the stupidest system ever, but I guess we just add that to the long list of stupid we already have.

I focus on my guitar. Tyler's idea for the new riff is gold. I've managed to add some bars and what feels like part of the bridge but now I've hit a wall and want to run it by Kessie. I notice Dad watching the TV keenly and something about his expression makes me take off my headphones. I set the Martin down and watch too.

‘Ro, you need to see this.' He turns up the volume on the remote, and I realise I'm fast losing my opportunity to tell Mum and Dad about my date with Jake.

I turn that word over in my head. Is it a date? We're going somewhere. Him and me. We kissed once, kind of … It feels like a date, I decide, which just sends a shiver along my spine. Yeah, definitely a date. Probably a date. Maybe a date.

I look for a pause I can slide into to get what will almost certainly be an excruciating conversation about ‘knowing your body' and ‘respecting yourself' over with. That's if they're even talking to me once they realise it's on Thursday. I've worked out I'll still be able to get there before the end of the debate. I'll even see most of it. I just won't be there at the start for the happy-family pics or the moral support. But it's not like Luke will be there either, so maybe they won't care …

Deep breath.
She'll forgive me. Won't she?

What's-his-name on the ABC – who's actually pretty good-looking for someone born before the internet – is talking about an investigation into parliamentarians' expense claims. Looks like someone in Mum's government has claimed expenses to go to a colleague's wedding. There are a few on the Opposition side too – a fun-run in Western Australia, and tickets to last year's AFL Grand Final – all the stuff I'd hoped we'd be able to do once Mum became Premier, but we never could.

‘There are also questions being asked about Premier Mulvaney's use of the Commonwealth car on three separate occasions …'

Mum closes
The Economist
at the exact moment that Dad hands her the phone, which rings before she even has a chance to dial.

Dad and I look at each other. ‘Harry,' we say in perfect sync.

Mum takes the phone.

Dad peers at her over his glasses with a distracted, concerned look, but then turns his attention back to the TV.

I've missed my moment. Unscheduled evening phone calls from Mum's office never end well – or quickly. I uncross my legs and stand up, stretching a bit to get rid of the pins and needles. I wait to see how long Mum will be, but she looks like she's settling in for a while; there's talk of releasing a statement and accounting for her time.

‘Can I talk to you guys after all this?' I ask Dad, but he shushes me and leans in closer to Mum, trying to hear what's going on.

Mum asks Harry to hang on. ‘I'll talk to you later, Frankie,' she says, her voice brittle.

I glance at Dad but his focus is solely on Mum. ‘What's up?'

Mum presses her lips into a thin smile but she looks worried. She covers the phone to answer me. ‘Just the usual media circus. I'll sort it out,' she says.

Is this the infamous dirt file? The story Seamus Hale is
threatening to reveal?
I hesitate, trying to decide if there's anything I can do, but come up empty.

‘I'll be in my room,' I say, grabbing my guitar.

I'm woken by the sound of my parents' voices, loud and unexpected. I hear the front door shut and a car drive off. It's after 2 am. Sometimes The Zoo runs all night while they force through legislation that has a deadline. Or they get caught up in a media crisis that means Mum has to stay overnight. But never this late, and Parliament is out of session now that the campaign has officially started.

The expense claims mentioned on the news must be causing problems. I wonder if Mum really has done the wrong thing. Then again, it might just be the usual debate-week madness. On the upside, it might pave the way for Thursday night. If everyone's distracted, they might not care whether I'm at the debate or not.

I lie awake, switching back and forth between anticipation and dread about the date. I eventually fall asleep and am woken by a barrage of text messages from Kessie about the new song. I skim them half-heartedly, trying not to think too much about what they mean. It's fine if Tyler and Kessie are besties now, I decide. We should all be friends; Van and I used to hang without Kessie all the time.

But the band is mine. No Politics? All Frankie Mulvaney-Webb, thank you very much. I conveniently allow myself to disregard the fact that Tyler's contribution to our new song is stellar, or that she's actually really good at making sure Kessie shows up on time and focuses. She's even backed me up in the past when there's been a dead heat between me and Kessie. But that's where it ends.

At 6.30, I give up trying to sleep and drag myself into the kitchen to find Dad dressed and showered, stirring a pot of porridge on the stove. My brain feels cloudy and thick, and everything sounds muffled.

‘Hey, Dad, did Mum go out last night?' I rub my head, frowning against the sunny morning.

Dad keeps stirring the porridge. ‘Yeah, she had stuff to do.'

‘That's just the right amount of vague.'

Dad faces me, a humourless smile playing at his lips. ‘I'm just respecting your politics-free zone.'

I feign injury, clutching at my chest with a grimace. ‘Ouch.'

He fake-claps my performance but says nothing.

I'm tempted to ask what they were arguing about, except that I can't imagine that bringing this up will help my cause. ‘So, I wanted to talk to Mum too …'

Dad turns off the flame. ‘Let me get this organised.' He pours the porridge into two bowls beside the stove,
then sets down the pot and carries the bowls over to the table. ‘What is it?' he asks.

I take the chair opposite him and blow on my porridge. ‘So,' I start, forcing a lightness that is less than convincing. ‘I've been invited out.'

His spoon hovers by his mouth, steam fogging up his glasses. ‘And …?'

‘And.' I smile, frown, clear my throat.

He puts the spoon back in the bowl. ‘I'm guessing from the awkward fidgeting and general angst that this has something to do with that boy.'

‘What boy?' I ask, panicked. There is NO WAY Dad saw me with Jake.

I sigh.
Gran.

Dad tries the porridge again, swallows this time. ‘Have you lost the power of speech, Francesca?'

I shake my head in protest, though it seems maybe I have.

‘Does he have a name, this boy?'

Deep breath. ‘Jake.'

‘Gran Mulvaney called him Rock Hudson.'

I roll my eyes. ‘Except Jake's not gay.'

Dad laughs. ‘Shame about that.'

‘So, we're going to a show …'

‘What kind of show?'

‘That, I do not know.'

Dad sets his jaw. ‘We'll come back to that. When is it?'

‘Here's the fun bit. He's had to work all week after school – he's saving up for a new camera lens,' I say, hoping this earns Jake some brownie points.

Dad looks up. ‘Don't forget I have my writing retreat next week. We'll need your help with Luke.'

‘I'll be here.'

‘When then?'

‘Tonight.' I squirm in my seat. ‘I kind of agreed before I realised.'

Dad sets his spoon down. ‘Frankie …'

And suddenly this means everything to me. Suddenly I want to go, no question. I open my mouth, trying to find the right way to articulate something I'm not totally sure I understand, when Mum walks in.

‘What's going on?' She looks pale and there's a kind of echo in her voice. ‘You didn't wake me, Brant.'

‘I figured you needed the sleep.' He doesn't look up, not even when Mum leans in to kiss him, her lips meeting his forehead.

Is Dad angry with Mum?

She offers me a thin smile, indicating that, yet again, there's something they're not telling me.

And like a blanket has been lifted, any remaining guilt I might be feeling about missing the Leadership Debate vanishes. ‘I was just telling Dad that I can't make it tonight.'

Mum lifts an eyebrow but her voice does not rise at all. ‘Were you.'

‘Yeah, I mean, I want to come to your thing – I do.' I avoid Dad's stern look and press on. ‘But I have … a date.'

‘Really.' Mum's expression is as flat as her tone.

‘Jake – that's who I'm going with – said we could meet you after.
I
could. He'd drop me off near the studio. I could watch it then – the last half. Or tomorrow, even, to help you review.'

They go over these debates endlessly after the fact. Endlessly before it, too. They'll do another drill today – a full dress rehearsal – to make sure Mum doesn't ruffle or overreact and, more than anything,
stays on message
. It's not easy, given that your opponent's whole job is to rile you, to push you into a corner and make you lose your shit. The review sessions afterwards are even worse – dead boring and kind of pointless, if you ask me, like revising your notes after you've sat the exam.

But if it means I can go out with Jake …

Small wrinkles appear at the corners of Mum's mouth, lines I hadn't noticed before. I can see Gran Mulvaney in her features, the laugh lines they both share, the lift of her chin. A heaviness settles in my chest.

I almost back down and then Dad cuts in. ‘It's not happening, Frankie,' he says. ‘I really can't believe you'd ask your mother –'

Mum covers Dad's hand with her own. ‘No. Let her go.'

‘Ro –' Worry lines crease his forehead and dark smudges shadow his eyes. I guess they're both feeling it. ‘This is not the time.'

Mum halts Dad with a single look. There is a brief silent battle that only they understand and then he clears his throat, carefully pushes his chair back and walks out of the room.

Mum stares after him, blinking. When she turns to me, her features have been rearranged into her usual calm. ‘Have fun,' she says.

The pang in my chest is sharper this time but I'm getting good at ignoring it. ‘Thanks, Mum. I promise I'll make it up to you.'

Mum shakes her head. ‘You don't need to. This is my gig, Frankie. You enjoy yours.' And with that, she rises from the table, coffee in hand. ‘Right, then. Let the show begin.'