Mum told me to set Nan’s best china for dinner, and two sizes of knives and forks and linen napkins. When I finished she inspected the table, tsk-ing as she straightened the napkins and made sure the cutlery was parallel. It seemed like a ridiculous amount of fuss for a family dinner, but then she’d always said that keeping busy helped take her mind off things.
Beth’s car pulled up at 6.30. It was the first time I’d seen her since the SkoolDaze tryouts. I flattened myself against the living room wall, where I hoped I couldn’t be seen from outside, and peeked out through the sliver of glass between the curtain and the window.
In the car, Larrie was talktalktalking at Beth. Her face was tired and upset, and she was waving her arms around like she was worried her words weren’t enough to get the message through. Beth caught Larrie’s hands between hers, mid-flight, and made Larrie look at her. At that moment I wished I could lip-read, because whatever she said instantly changed Larrie’s mood. Her mouth spread into a grin, and she tilted her head back and laughed. For a second, she had the exact expression she used to get when we’d got on the roundabout and Dad’d push us round and round till we didn’t know which way was up.
Larrie leaned over and kissed Beth goodbye. A quick peck that, if I hadn’t known otherwise, I would have registered as an affectionate gesture between best friends. I kept watching as Larrie walked up the driveway, still smiling to herself. Beth didn’t start her car until she’d given her a final wave goodbye from the front porch.
On the dot of 7.00, Dad called us to the table. The warm glow of candlelight reflected off the walls.
“Isn’t this nice,” he said, beaming when Mum set down the last soup bowl and took her seat. “The whole family having dinner.”
“We all ate together a few days ago,” I reminded him.
“Don’t be impertinent, Allison, you know what your father means.”
“Thanks for making a delicious dinner, Mum,” said Larrie. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“Always good to have a reward at the end of a hard day’s work,” said Dad. “What were you and Beth up to today?”
“Chemistry, mainly.” Larrie waited for Mum’s coughing fit to pass before continuing. “I can’t believe the first week of exams is over. This time next week I’ll be free.”
“What are you planning to do to celebrate?” asked Mum. “Do you want to have a party for all your friends?”
Larrie examined her soup as if it held the answer to the meaning of life. “I don’t think so.”
“How about schoolies? I know you said you didn’t want to go, but Penny in the Kingston Flight Centre reckons there are some good last-minute deals if you’ve changed your mind.”
Mum looked so hopeful that Larrie might take her up on the offer that I had to feel a little bit sorry for her, even while I added it to the list of things I resented Larrie for.
Larrie swirled her soup with her spoon. She still hadn’t eaten a mouthful. “Beth and I are thinking of going hiking on the peninsula for a few days,” she said. “To get some fresh air.”
Mum cast Dad a sideways glance. He tried to return a reassuring smile, but it came out as a tortured grimace. It was like watching a train crash in slow motion.
I couldn’t stand it any more.
“They know,” I said to Larrie.
“Know what?” Larrie sounded genuinely confused, but I wasn’t buying it.
“About you and Beth,” I said. “You can all stop pretending now.”
The three of them looked at each other and then back at me. I couldn’t tell who was most outraged.
“Allison, what do you think you’re doing?” demanded Mum.
“You had no right–” started Larrie.
But I couldn’t contain my anger any longer. “I’m sick of it, sick of all of you,” I shouted, banging my soup spoon on the table. “Larrie thinks she’s the only person who matters around here, and no wonder, because you two keep telling her that she is. I live here too, and I’m over it. It’s hard enough dealing with Larrie’s mess all day at school without coming home and having to pretend we’re the perfect Kingston family.”
Dad took a deep breath. “I think we’d all have preferred it if you’d found a more tactful way to frame the topic, but thank you, Al. It’s not been good for any of us to act as if this isn’t happening. Larrie, Mum and I want to give you whatever support you need.”
Larrie’s phone buzzed. “This had better be Beth,” she sighed. She read the message and tossed the phone onto the table. It landed in front of me. “Why won’t she leave us alone?”
I tilted my head a little to read the message, which was still open on the screen:
Hello, Miss Popularity. Everybody’s talking about you on Facebook, and they’re begging for more. I’m saving the best for last. Hugs, Camille
My stomach lurched.
“Who is she?” demanded Mum.
“I don’t know.” Larrie’s eyes welled with tears. “Someone – this Camille, whoever she is – texted me a photo the day after the end-of-school party. It came from a withheld number.”
“This photo,” said Dad. “Was it of you and Beth, er …”
Larrie nodded. “She said she’d send it to Mr Masch and the school board, that I’d be stood down as school president.”
“Larrie! Why didn’t you tell us about this?”
“Beth thought Camille’d give up if she saw that we weren’t bothered about it, so I ignored it.”
“But she didn’t give up?”
Larrie shook her head.
“Are you being blackmailed?” asked Dad.
“No. I thought so at first but when I asked what she wanted in return for deleting the photo she said there was nothing I could do. Then, last week, she sent it to the members of the student council and when that didn’t work she put it on Facebook.”
“And you have no idea who this Camille girl is?” said Dad.
“It’s a fake name,” I told him. “There’s no Camille at Whitlam, and there hasn’t been for over ten years.”
“What kind of person would want to put so much stress on you during your final exams?” asked Mum.
“If it’s that Mitch Doherty,” began Dad, “I’ll–”
“It’s not Mitch,” said Larrie. “I asked him about it after the very first message and he swore he knew nothing about it. Mitch and I didn’t split on the best terms, but he’s not the sort of person who’d do something like this.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Mum.
Larrie blinked, trying not to cry. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react about me and Beth, and about the photo. You’re so used to me being your perfect little girl, I didn’t want to disappoint you. Especially not this year.”
“You could never disappoint us, Larrie,” said Dad. His eyes met mine across the table. “Neither of you could.”
While we were talking, Mum’s Yorkshire puddings rose and then collapsed and shrivelled in the oven, next to the dried-out leg of lamb and withered vegies. It didn’t matter since no one was hungry any more. Dad said that he and Mum and Larrie had a long overdue talk to have and asked whether I’d mind leaving them to it.
I threw the uneaten food into the bin while the three of them discussed what Larrie should do about Camille. Ordinarily, I would have been furious to be relegated to the kitchen, but tonight there was something comforting about the familiar routine of scraping and rinsing and loading the dishwasher.
Mum came in when I was wiping down the counters. She reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’re like a bull in a china shop sometimes, Allie. But you also say what needs to be said.”
Al Miller let the cat out of the bag.