Tom looks ready to split out of his skin when the cab finally pulls over. ‘You killed your mother? How?’ he blurts the moment the door slams shut.
I can’t talk about it. Honestly. Not one word. It’s bringing on all sorts of bad things. The darkness, I can feel it moving in. My hands cover my face. ‘Please, Tom. Can we talk about it later?’ I plead with him.
His lips go all taut. He’s not happy but I’m counting on the fact he’s nice enough not to push me.
‘I promise I’m not a pyscho-killer, you’re completely safe,’ I reassure him. ‘I just can’t talk about it, not now.’
‘All right,’ he concedes. ‘But you need to tell me sometime. This is obviously important.’ He looks deep into my eyes, his face serious. ‘I want you to trust me.’
In ancient Ireland it was customary for a man to braid a bracelet of his own hair to give to the woman he loved. It was considered a gift of trust because if you had someone’s hair you could inflict some mighty awful magic on them. I doubt a band of my hair would be enough for Tom.
I take his hand and change the subject. ‘Do you know what would be hot?’ I kiss his fingertips. ‘If you got a motorbike.’
‘Ha.’
‘And leathers. You would look hot in leathers. And I could get those slutty biker boots.’
Tom rolls his eyes. He’s still not happy with me. ‘Like I don’t get enough hell from my mum already.’
‘Oh yeah, you’ve got real troubles,’ I scoff.
Tom pulls up at that. ‘I do actually. Not that you bother to ask.’
Hell. That hurt. But he’s probably right, I’m hopeless with that how are you feeling stuff. But I don’t know how to back out of it and I’m still feeling raw from thinking about my own Ma, so I get sarcastic. ‘What? Did mummy get your sandwich order wrong when she packed your lunch this morning?’
Tom drops my hand and glares at me. ‘Actually, she’s been defending you. She thinks if we’re serious, I should introduce you to the family. She says I’m not treating you with enough respect.’
It almost has me flat on my back. How do I reply to that? Of course Tom has some ridiculously kind mother intent on making me feel part of the family. He would! What a bastard. I want to take it graciously and admit that it brings up everything I’ve been fearing; that I’ll never be normal, that I’ll never fit into any family. That I’m alone. That I’ll always be alone. But do I? No. I go straight to defence position A—attack.
‘Oh yeah, well fat chance!’ I spit. ‘How’s that supposed to happen?’
‘Exactly,’ he growls back. ‘So I’ve got my mum and sisters on my back, all of them thinking I’m some bastard.’ He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. ‘It might not mean anything to you, but I care what they think.’
‘Then get your dad to stand up for you!’ I say. ‘He would know it doesn’t matter.’
I do feel bad that he’s dealing with this but it’s hardly a crisis. He’s got no idea what a real crisis is. I reach for his hand but he wrenches it away.
‘My dad? Really?’ His eyes narrow and his lip curls. His face scares me like that. ‘You don’t remember do you?’ He shrugs, then says quietly, more to himself, ‘You probably never asked. You obviously never cared …’
‘What? Spit it out!’ I say with way too much frustration.
‘My parents are divorced, Olive,’ he says with such hurt in his swimming blue eyes I feel like I might split in half. ‘I haven’t seen him in over a year.’ Then he turns and starts to walk away. ‘And it does matter that I can’t introduce you to my family,’ he calls back. ‘It matters to me, A LOT!’
I don’t bother to call after him. How can he want me to say anything? I certainly don’t want to hear my own stupid voice. I deserve every second of pain that will come from this. I’m a selfish idiot. I feel the warm tide of his presence drain away as his silhouette disappears around the corner. It leaves me ice cold on the black street.
* * *
I let the back door slam as I enter the house and go to the kitchen to make tea. Rose is sitting on the couch, her eyes red-rimmed, staring blankly at the television. I didn’t expect her to be here. She must have done some smooth manoeuvring with Malcolm, I need to ask her about that. First things first, chamomile tea for my nerves.
Rose hears me filling the kettle. ‘What are you doing slamming the back door like that? I could have had Mal here,’ she snaps.
‘I didn’t think you’d be home, all right?’ I snap back.
‘Where else did you think I’d be? Did you think Mal would want to take me out for cocktails and dancing after seeing me tonight?’
‘I thought you’d still be fighting. That’s how it usually works,’ I say, flicking on the kettle. Am I seriously walking from one fight straight into another? God. I feel exhausted.
‘True,’ she says. Her eyes dilate into this creepy dead look. ‘With you around, that’s how we always end up. Me making insane excuses for my insane behaviour to cover for you.’
‘You could always tell him the truth,’ I snarl, knowing she never would. She’s so ashamed of me.
‘Oh yeah, that would work!’ she says, her words caustic. ‘That would be such a great move. I should totally put you in charge of my love life.’ She blows through her lips. ‘God, you are selfish.’
‘What? How am I selfish?’
She juts her chin out, sad but angry too. ‘Malcolm almost broke up with me tonight.’
‘You can’t blame me for tonight! If you communicated better with your boyfriend, we would have known he was there.’
Rose’s eyes blaze. ‘I don’t blame you—I just expected you to, I don’t know, care or something.’ She turns away. ‘But of course you don’t. You don’t care about anyone—not even Tom.’
I walk toward her, my voice low. ‘You don’t know anything about me and Tom.’
‘I know if you really loved him you would tell him what’s going to happen to him.’ She’s trying to get under my skin—and it’s working.
‘You’re just jealous,’ I tell her. ‘You know Tom is way more serious about me than Malcolm is about you and you can’t stand it.’
Rose gets to her feet, her fists clenched by her sides. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this angry. I actually take a step backward, which I’m glad she can’t see. ‘Don’t you tell me how serious we are!’ she yells. ‘Mal asked me to move in with him months ago. I had to say no because of you.’
Hell. Forget the tea. I’m out of here.
‘You should have said yes,’ I roar as I retreat to my bedroom. ‘You would have done us both a favour!’
I lie on the floor in the pitch black, the buzz of the concert still ringing in my ears. This must be what Felix sees—nothing. It’s actually quite pleasant, being able to shut things out. I’m not sure he’d agree with me though. I once asked him what he wished he could see more than anything, and he’d said ‘a smile’.
I was pretty knocked out by that. I knew he was deep, but there was a whole new level to that. I told him he was impressive, which must have freaked him out because he hurriedly added a Victoria’s Secret model was a close second, which made me laugh. I wonder what I would choose if I could only see one thing?
I think of Rose’s smile at the concert tonight and think Felix might be onto something. I can’t remember the last time I saw her truly smile. I’m responsible for that—but I’ve had to bury it. It’s hard enough for a kid to grow up without parents and friends, or any hope of future happiness. If you lump in the fact that you’ve screwed up your sister’s life too—I’m not sure I could make it.
It hurts that Rose called me selfish tonight. I don’t mean to be. I just have to fight so hard to be noticed, it’s hard not to push yourself forward. No one else does.
Rose is strong, she’ll be okay. Besides, how can I make it better? Run away? Would that solve all her problems?
As I shuck off my clothes and underwear, still damp from the fountain, and pull on my flannel pyjamas, I remember the last time I considered running away. It was when Jordan’s parents told her I wasn’t real and she should stop pretending I was there because she was too old for all that nonsense.
I climb into bed thinking of Jordan, ten years old, sitting on the back steps of her house, overcoat on, cradling her stuffed school backpack and her favourite bear, a sleeping bag at her feet.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, scrambling over the back fence into her yard.
‘They say you’re not real.’
I’d been waiting for this. I’d been listening to conversations between her parents and I’d repeated them to Rose, trying to understand why her parents would want to do something as horrible as split us up. Jordan and I were happy. More than happy. I still look back and wonder if I’ve ever been happier. Rose warned me it was coming. That her parents would start to deny my existence. ‘People don’t like what they don’t understand,’ she had told me.
I didn’t believe Rose. Mr and Mrs Withadrew had been lovely to me for years. I was the imaginary friend welcome everywhere with them. I guess on some level I knew being ‘imaginary’ was not ideal, but it was the only thing I knew, and it was wonderful, so I cherished it.
It was with the Withadrews that I went Halloweening and to see the Christmas lights. It was at the Withadrews’ I learnt about classical music and saw my first National Geographic magazine. Their house was my second home, and although I knew well enough to stay out of reach and not talk in front of them, they spoke to me as if I was real. ‘Would Olive like to stay for a tea party?’ Mrs Withadrew would say.
Surely such a kind woman would not turn on me?
But she did. I can’t blame her, she thought she was doing the right thing by her child. She just didn’t realise how she had ripped out my heart in the process.
‘Oh,’ I’d said to Jordan. ‘So why are you packed?’
‘Because I hate them,’ she said, her fierce little face drawn up in fury. ‘I’m running away—with you.’
I wanted to hug her then; for her love, for her loyalty. ‘You wouldn’t like my place. We don’t get sweets.’
‘Then we’ll run away somewhere else. Somewhere hot with oranges and tennis.’
It sounded like the grandest plan I’d ever heard, but I knew I couldn’t do it to her. I’d seen enough to know how scary the city could be. Little girls couldn’t just wander the streets and I wasn’t strong enough to protect her.
I started to cry then, desperate for my mother, my father, anyone. And Jordan had stood up and hugged me, promising she would never believe them and we would be best friends forever.
We struggled on for a few more months like that, pretending everything was fine. But it was basically the beginning of the end.
I had that same feeling with Tom tonight. An overwhelming sense that we’re doomed.