Love and Other Perishable Items Page 15

  My family sits down to dinner at seven-thirty. He hasn’t rung yet. He’ll ring when he’s had his dinner.

  “How was the party last night?” Mum asks.

  “Fine. Good.”

  We eat in silence.

  “Is everything all right, Amelia?” Mum again.

  “Yes!”

  When the meal is finished, Mum and Dad light up their after-dinner cigarettes. I clear the table, scrape the dishes, rinse them and stack them on the sink edge. Dad is supposed to load the dishwasher when he is home. I take the phone from its cradle and check the dial tone. I retire with it to my room and sit cross-legged on my bed.

  It’s nine-thirty and still nothing. Maybe he’s watching Media Watch. What time is Media Watch on? He might think that it’s too late to call me now.

  After much deliberation, and with the beginnings of panic creeping into my throat, I snatch the phone up and dial his number.

  “Robyn Harvey speaking,” says a woman who I guess is Chris’s mum.

  “Can I speak to Chris, please.”

  “Just a moment, love.” She sounds kind. “Chris!” she calls. “Phone for you.”

  Muffled footsteps and then Chris’s voice. “Hello.”

  My chest tightens.

  “It’s Amelia.”

  “Hi.”

  He sounds … what? Dismayed? Gruff? Surprised? Annoyed?

  “How are you?” I venture.

  “I have the mother of all hangovers.”

  “Oh, that’s no goo—”

  “Can I call you back?”

  “Huh?”

  “Can I call you back, Amelia?” He sounds impatient. “In ten minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  And he hangs up.

  I look at the alarm clock. 9:34 p.m. I wait.

  There’s a knock on my bedroom door. I jump out of my skin.

  “Yes!”

  Mum opens the door but doesn’t enter.

  “I’m going to bed now,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say, with a touch of irritation. Why is she telling me this tonight? Usually she just goes without saying anything, making me wonder whether I should take the initiative and go into her room to kiss her good night. But whenever I do, I’m just confronted by her tired face.

  Now she stands there, observing me sitting on my bed with the phone in my lap. Her eyes move to my unpacked schoolbag, my desk devoid of books and my desk lamp off.

  “Is everything all right?” she asks again.

  “Yes!” For one terrifying second I think I might cry. “I’ll see you in the morning, Mum.”

  9:45.

  9:50.

  9:55.

  I jump when the phone finally rings, and pick it up quickly.

  “It’s me,” he says tonelessly.

  “Hi.” I grit my teeth against the havoc taking over my central nervous system.

  “I’m not usually a fan of cliché,” he begins, “but I’m going to have to open with ‘About last night.’ ”

  I exhale a faint giggle and wait for him to continue.

  “As you would be aware, I was drinking heavily last night, which led to me becoming disinhibited and losing control of my actions.” He sounds as if he is reading from a prepared speech. After a few moments I realize he is.

  “I apologize for coming on to you the way I did,” he continues.

  “You didn’t—”

  “But I’m sure you know there is no question of us having an ongoing romantic relationship.”

  There it is. My eyes fill with tears. I’m afraid to speak lest my voice betray them.

  “Why?” I manage to squeeze out.

  “Because you are fifteen and I’m twenty-two, we have nothing in common socially and are at completely different stages in our lives.”

  I know he knows I’m crying. He can probably hear my efforts to stifle it.

  “You couldn’t participate in my life. I couldn’t participate in yours. It wouldn’t work. I need someone who can come to the pub with me and my mates, who can go away with me for weekends, who I can introduce to my family and, to be frank, someone I can have sex with.”

  “I’d have sex with you!”

  “Don’t!” he says sharply. “Don’t even say that.”

  Tears roll down my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry about all this. You were drinking too. It was just one of those things.” He must realize how lame that sounds. “I’ll see you at work. Bye.”

  He hangs up.

  I lie down on my pillow and let out all the sobs I’d been keeping in my throat.

  Ugly

  The next morning I lie in bed after the alarm sounds. My eyes are sore and caked in gunk. I suppose I’d better go to school, I think. Mum, Jess and Dad have already left. Mum had to drop Dad at the airport early. He’s teaching a few classes at the University of New England this week. Modern Drama something or other.

  I iron my school shirt in the kitchen and manage a few sips of tea. I leave much later than usual and the buses are full and much slower. I slink into roll call late. Mrs. Chambers doesn’t say anything but marks my name off on the roll. I’m never late.

  Penny catches up with me at our lockers shortly after recess bell.

  “What’s wrong?” she says.

  “Chris.”

  “What now?”

  “He said it’s all off. He says he was just drunk. He says it’ll never … We’ll never … He never … He read all the reasons why not from a piece of paper.”

  “Oh, sweetie. What a gyp.”

  I slam my locker door shut. “Yeah.”

  We walk outside into the sunshine and head down to join our group on the grass.

  “Are we good for Saturday?” I ask. “I’m going to need some serious chocolate therapy. I might even need you to dye my hair for me.” Our usual fallback Saturday ritual is going to the movies, sharing a bucket of popcorn and then sleeping over at either one’s house, watching movies and eating chocolate late into the night.

  “I can’t this week.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ve got a thing.”

  “A family thing?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to the end-of-season party,” she says, trying hard to sound casual.

  Every year on the Saturday that the First XV rugby team at the boys’ school plays the last game of the season, there’s a huge party at one of the players’ houses. It’s strictly invitation-only and attended by the coolest, sportiest boys and the best-looking, most up-for-it selection of girls. I’m gobsmacked—half wildly curious about how Penny had managed to get invited, half jealous and miffed.

  “How?” I stop walking, which forces her to stop too.

  “Scott’s sister is a senior. She goes out with one of the guys on the team. She got Scott and some of his friends invited—including me.”

  “You’re going with Scott, then.”

  “Well, sort of. His sister’s driving and I’m going with them.”

  “But they’re a bunch of wankers, remember? The alpha males and the female prizes for their achievements?”

  Penny says nothing.

  I wait for her to make some reference to me going too. She remains silent.

  “What if I wanted to come too?” I ask pointedly.

  “There’s … there’s no more room in the car,” she says lamely.

  “No more room in the car,” I repeat. “Well, fuck you then!”

  The day passes without further incident. At lunch I sit quietly among my group, saying nothing to Penny or anybody and pretending to study for a test.

  I don’t cry.

  In double English we watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Sitting at one of the desks in the back row, I put my head down on my arms and study the grainy wooden veneer of the desk, which is an inch from my eyes. I doze fitfully.

  Mrs. Cumming doesn’t say anything, but I catch her looking at me when I wake.

  The bus trip home is the u
sual assault on my senses. Three alpha-male rugby players torture a tiny nerdy-looking seventh-grade boy. He fights back, the brave little soul.

  I meander home from the bus stop, not due back at work until the following night.

  When I get home, Mum is about to head out the door. She says she’s going to a superannuation seminar at her school.

  “There’s a barbecued chicken in the fridge for you and Jess, and stuff for salad. Get her into the bath before six.”

  The front door slams behind her and I stand in the middle of the kitchen. I can hear Jess watching Sesame Street in the living room. I put my bag down on one of the chairs around the kitchen table. There’s a paralyzing ache somewhere in my chest, but no sign of tears. I realize I haven’t eaten all day.

  “Melia!” calls Jess. “Can I have some Ovaltine?”

  Little madam doesn’t even say please, I think.

  “Can I have some Ovaltine what?” I shout back.

  “Pleeeease!”

  “Little madam,” I mutter, and make the Ovaltine.

  At five o’clock she wanders into the kitchen, where I am sitting at the table in front of an empty tea mug.

  “TV’s finished,” she says leadingly.

  “Mmmmm.”

  “Can you play with me?”

  “No.”

  “Ohhwwwwwuh.”

  “Go and find something to play with for a little while and then it’ll be bath time, then dinnertime.”

  “There’s nothing to play with,” she sulks.

  And then I just lose it.

  “DON’T WHINE, JESSICA!” I shout.

  Her little eyes widen.

  “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! GET AWAY FROM ME! GO AWAY!” My voice cracks at the end of the outburst. I fling my head down on my arms where they are resting on the table and wail. I feel her little hand on my arm.

  “Melia …”

  “GO AWAY!” I scream into the table.

  Little footsteps sprint away, up the stairs and into her room above, where the door slams.

  I cry and cry, until my shirtsleeves are sodden and my body exhausted. I hear little sobs coming from the room above me. I get up, blow my nose and splash some water on my face at the kitchen sink. I take several deep breaths. Then I climb the stairs and knock on Jess’s bedroom door.

  “Jess.”

  I open the door. She’s sitting on her bed with one arm holding Prize Teddy, who does indeed look fetching with his new Nanna-knitted scarf. I sit down beside her.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  She’s silent.

  “I’m really sorry I yelled at you.” My voice quavers. “I’m upset today.”

  “Why?”

  “A boy at my work is being mean to me.”

  “Like Felix?”

  Felix is a boy at Jess’s preschool who often pushes her over in the sandpit. I’ve threatened to go to her preschool and show this Felix the back of my hand, but Mum always tells me not to talk like that.

  “Sort of.”

  She nods. I hold out my arms and she flings herself across the bed and into them. Holding her tight, I breathe in great lungfuls of her skin and hair.

  “I’m going to run your bath and make dinner while you’re in there.”

  Jess has long baths, where she plays out all sorts of dramas with her duckies and various unfortunate-looking Barbie dolls. Crystal Barbie, once resplendent in her polyester ball gown and tiara, is now naked and sporting a crew cut.

  Jess nods and pulls off her socks. I wouldn’t stoop so low as to ask her not to tell, but I hope that she won’t mention my episode to Mum.

  Half an hour later we are seated side by side in front of the television, watching one of Jess’s shows and eating cold chicken and salad. The phone rings. It’s Penny.

  Being mad at Penny is not sustainable. She is the reason I don’t feel alone in the world. We’ve been friends since seventh grade and best friends since eighth grade. Penny is my most intimate relationship and I don’t know how to position myself in the universe without her by my side. If not for her, I would be some Holden Caulfield–style loner, alienated and miserable. I’m mad as hell, and taken aback that she is going to this party without me, but I can’t stay angry at her. The Chris stuff is unbearable enough; I need Penny. I need to beat a retreat back to our safe harbor.

  “Have you calmed down yet?” she asks.

  “Only just.”

  “My dad wants to split up with my mum,” she says dully.

  “Shit! Why?”

  “I don’t know. She can be pretty hard work sometimes.”

  “I guess. Did you overhear them talking about it?”

  “No, he told me about it in the car on the way to school today.”

  “Has he told her?”

  She was silent for a moment. “No. Not yet. And it’s bad timing, with Jamie just home from Banksia House.”

  “Do you reckon he’s serious?”

  “Seems to be.”

  “Where would he go?”

  “I don’t know, Amelia!”

  I can’t believe this. Penny’s mum and dad are like … I can’t believe this.

  “Sweetie, I’m so sorry. I don’t get it. Your parents are … You know, they seemed … didn’t they?”

  “Hmh.”

  “Do you want to come and stay here for a while?”

  “No, I’d better … no. But thanks.”

  Radio Silence

  When I get to work the next day, Chris is standing at the service desk looking at the roster. Bianca and Jeremy see me before he does.

  “Hi,” I say, slotting myself in beside him.

  He looks at me briefly. “Hi,” he says, then passes me the roster and walks rapidly away. Bianca and Jeremy snicker, or I imagine they do. She’s put me way up on register sixteen again.

  Not a word or a gesture all shift.

  Bianca takes Chris off register at about seven-thirty to collect trolleys. He walks past me several times and doesn’t even make eye contact.

  Jeremy and Bianca seem to be conferring down at the service desk, and then Jeremy is dispatched to my register, ostensibly to take a change order.

  “What’s happening with you and Harvey?” he asks, as if it is his right to ask such things.

  “Nothing,” I reply, cursing myself for even giving him that much.

  “He ignoring you or what?”

  “He’s not ignoring me!” Unbelievable! This guy hasn’t spoken to me in over three months and now he thinks he can show up and question me about the sorest of sore points. They can sniff out a weak spot, Bianca and her minions, that’s for sure.

  I slap my change order down on the conveyor belt. He pockets it and raises his eyebrows, then saunters back down to Bianca. Does he ever actually serve customers? I think as a customer with a loaded cart approaches my register.

  Surely Chris will say something to me before the shift is over. He has never, ever not spoken to me at work. He’ll come and talk to me and demonstrate to the minions that I am still his favorite youngster and the minions will have to quit—or at least reduce—their snickering. Nine o’clock approaches. Everybody starts cashing up.

  Chris and I usually walk to the back office together to hand in our cash drawers. Before I have finished counting the money in my drawer, I see Chris yank his drawer out and disappear around to the back office with it. I follow as soon as I can, feeling minion eyes upon me, only to see him bolting out of the staff exit. I stop in my tracks. Ed overtakes me, carrying his own cash drawer.

  “Ed!” There’s a desperate tone in my voice that even a stoner can pick up on and wish himself elsewhere.

  “Yeah?”

  “Chris … Is Chris not talking to me or something?”

  “I dunno, Amelia. Sorry.”

  He continues on. I slowly put one foot in front of the other until I hand in my drawer. I collect my backpack from my locker and head to the staff exit. Outside, Bianca, Jeremy, Donna and Alana are lined up against the wall, taking
drags on their cigarettes.

  Bianca looks at me with a satisfied expression. Satisfied that I have been put in my place at last. No more swanning around thinking I’m smarter than them and riding on Chris’s coattails. She’d have been dripping with saccharine, though, if it had gone the other way and I had emerged as Chris’s girlfriend.

  The others don’t look at me, but I see smirks through the smoke. They don’t say goodbye and neither do I.

  On my way home I walk past the pub and see Chris sitting alone at a table with a beer, waiting for the others to join him. I stop to torture myself with a good long stare. Then I walk home. Tonight, walking alone through the dark streets is frightening. The wind whistles through the power poles and makes shop signs rattle against their fastenings. Once I am past the main roads, I walk in the middle of the street to avoid whatever might be lurking in the shadowy sidewalks.

  Getting the Hell Out of Here

  Two weeks to the day pass since Ed’s party. Work sucks. To make the whole Land of Dreams thing seem worthwhile, I blow my savings on two new pairs of jeans, several new T-shirts and a new pair of Converse All Stars. Blue. One of the T-shirts is cream-colored with brown edging. It has the words CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME? written across the front in small lettering.

  Chris has continued to ignore my existence. Well, not exactly, but he makes swift maneuvers to avoid situations where he might have to look at me or talk to me. If such a situation becomes unavoidable, I get the curtest of nods.

  I miss him like hell and often have sudden recall of cool bathroom tiles and the taste of lime and tequila.

  Street Cred Donna hangs around him a lot, retying the long purple laces on her steel-capped boots. They all go off to the pub together after work. I hover around in the locker room until they’ve gone so I won’t have to parade myself past them all milling around the staff exit. Behold the Dumped. The Publicly Dumped. The Embodiment of Dashed Hopes. The Uninvited.