Friday morning I woke to the phone ringing. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, and finally lurched out of bed and picked up the phone.
‘Hello?’ I said.
‘Rachel?’ There was a man’s voice at the other end of the line.
‘No, this is her daughter,’ I said. ‘This is Jewel.’
‘Oh.’
‘I can take a message for you.’ I grabbed a pen and looked around for something to write on. ‘Who’s calling?’
‘It’s…uh, this is your dad.’
‘What?’ My voice went up a few octaves. The grogginess in my head disappeared instantly.
‘This is your dad…this is Kevin.’ He spoke slowly, like he was talking to a four year old, sounding out each syllable.
‘No, I heard you say that,’ I said. ‘I was just hoping you’d say something that made sense.’
I was still clutching the pen, and it began to tremble uncontrollably.
‘Jewel,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were back with your mother.’
‘You don’t know anything.’ My voice was shaky. ‘You’ve been gone for ten years.’ My words sounded as distant as his.
‘How long have you been there?’ I heard him swallow.
‘Almost a fortnight,’ I said. ‘Grandma died. Both Grandma and Grandpa are dead.’
‘I’m sorry, Jewel.’
‘What for?’
He was silent.
‘Why are you calling?’
‘To speak to your mother,’ he said finally. ‘Is she there?’
‘Why would you want to speak to her now?’ I asked, words tumbling out fast. ‘After you haven’t spoken to her in a decade. Why now? Don’t tell me you’re dying, too?’
‘I’m not dying, Jewel. Who else is dying? Are you all right, Jewel?’
‘Then explain yourself!’ I shouted.
He swallowed noisily again. ‘I don’t know what to say, Jewel—’
‘Would you stop saying my name?’ I snapped.
‘I’ve been speaking to your mother every couple of months since I left, Jewel,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Rachel said she told you we were talking. She thought that it’d be better if I didn’t speak to you directly, since you were so angry. And by the sounds of it you still are.’
‘Of course I’m angry,’ I muttered. ‘You don’t just abandon your child and not talk to them for half their life, then expect them to be hunky dory with it.’
He sounded tired. ‘Your mum thought you’d be better off having a more stable upbringing with your grandparents. After…after what happened, neither your mother nor I was in a fit state to parent you properly. I really am sorry, Jewel. I said some awful things to you when you were young, before I left, and you didn’t deserve to be abandoned, or treated that way by either of us. Rachel and I did what we thought was best. We weren’t able to raise you the way you should have been raised. We were barely able to look after ourselves.’
‘I’m eighteen now,’ I said.
‘I know.’
‘You’ve never sent me birthday presents.’
‘I put money into your grandparents’ account,’ he said.
‘Do you have proof of this?’ I demanded. ‘Are you making this up?’
‘I have receipts. Both your mother and I were helping financially to support you.’
‘This is too much right now.’ I tried to speak firmly, but my voice wavered, thick with emotion. I was filled with a sense of betrayal—by my mother, this time.
‘That’s okay.’
The front door opened, and Mum stepped inside.
‘I have to go now, Dad,’ I said, and hung up the phone.
Mum put her jacket on the coat rack and looked at me. She and I stood on opposite sides of the living room.
‘Would now be a good time for that sit-down chat?’ she asked.
I nodded.
‘I’ll make tea. You want to grab some biscuits? I bought more Tim Tams.’
I nodded again and we went into the kitchen together. She put the kettle on. I got out a nice plate and set out a circle of chocolate biscuits so that it looked like a sun. When the tea was made we went back into the living room and sat down on the couch.
Neither of us touched the Tim Tams. Mum held her cup of tea close to her mouth, blowing on it.
‘He’s working in the opal industry in Alice Springs,’ she said quietly. ‘Did he tell you that?’
‘No. I didn’t really give him the opportunity. Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to him all this time? That you knew where he was?’
She sipped her tea noisily. ‘Because you needed stability, Jewel,’ she murmured. ‘Neither your dad nor I could offer you that while you were growing up. Not after Ben died. I couldn’t tell you about your dad…it would have confused you, complicated your life even more. Grandma and Grandpa were the best option.’
‘But they’re dead now.’
She looked at me. ‘But didn’t they raise you well, Jewel? Weren’t you happy?’
‘I guess.’
‘What do you think your life would have been like here?’ she asked, her voice soft, defeated. ‘Your father hasn’t ever come back, you know. I’ve only spoken to him on the phone. Passed on everything your grandmother told me about you. We both loved—love—you dearly, Jewel. We just weren’t in a space where we could raise you properly. And I think that Grandma and Grandpa did raise you properly.’
‘Why didn’t you come to either of their funerals?’ I asked. ‘Grandma’s and Grandpa’s, I mean.’
‘People grieve differently, Jewel,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to handle those funerals. They were my parents, and I wish I could have been there to support you, but I grew up there, and I don’t think I could have survived going back. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t with you. I should have come.’
‘I missed you,’ I said. ‘Not just you, but the person you were before Ben died.’ My throat felt dry, and I barely said the words above a whisper. But I said his name.
She reached over and squeezed my hand. ‘None of us is going to be the exact same person we were before Ben died. But deep down we haven’t changed, not all that much. We can remain the same people fundamentally, but still change, and change isn’t always for the worse.’
Neither of us seemed to have anything else to say. I had so many thoughts and questions without answers swimming through my head that I couldn’t pick just one without getting tangled in a whole clump of them. There was way too much to process in just one morning.
‘Is there anything else?’ she asked.
‘Not today,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘As much as I love you now, Jewel, I wish I could have the eight-year-old you back. I wish I could raise you and watch you grow like I never got the opportunity to. I hope I didn’t ruin everything for you.’ Tears welled in her eyes.
I leant over and gave her a hug. ‘It’s okay, Mum. You didn’t ruin anything. You did the best you could, and that was good enough.’
We finished our tea, and then worked through the plate of biscuits. Mum turned on the TV and we sat there together all morning watching whatever was on, but not taking anything in. Mum cried and cried and cried, and I don’t know whether she was crying for me, or for Dad, or for herself, or for Ben. Maybe she was crying for everybody.
That afternoon, I was in the sunroom at True’s house, talking to Geraldine, when the phone rang.
Geraldine went to the kitchen to answer it, while I stayed in the sunroom and stared out across the backyard.
It was a quiet, bright afternoon, and the teachers state-wide had gone on strike for better pay, which meant a day off school for us—True was studying in the other room, and I was chatting to Geraldine about anything and everything while she chain-smoked after a morning’s gardening.
Sacha hadn’t been at school on Wednesday or Thursday, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask Mr Carr whether he knew where he was. If he was in hospital, I don’t think I could have taken it. So I’d stumbled through two days of school alone. True and Al had avoided each other since Tuesday.
Geraldine came back to the sunroom.
‘You want to come down to the police station with me?’ she asked.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But why?’
She grinned. ‘Sacha got arrested for stealing garden gnomes.’
I raised my eyebrows.
True appeared in the doorway. ‘I’ll come, since you’re taking the car, but can you drop me at the library afterwards?’ She tugged her hair back into a high ponytail.
Geraldine grabbed her keys. There was a knock on the door. True answered it. It was Little Al.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ asked True.
‘I was in the neighbourhood, and I just wanted to have a chat’ said Al, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
‘We live in the same neighbourhood, Michael,’ said True.
Geraldine interrupted. ‘Sacha’s been arrested for stealing garden gnomes. We’re going to pick him up from the police station.’
‘You serious?’ asked Al, incredulous.
We piled into the car. Geraldine drove. I sat in the front passenger seat, and True and Al sat in the back. Geraldine stuck a cassette tape into the player—it was a pretty old car—and an INXS song blared out.
‘Mum!’ groaned True. ‘Turn it down a bit.’
Geraldine grinned at her in the rear-view mirror, and lowered the volume.
She shook her head. ‘Garden gnomes.’
Three INXS songs later (how had I remained unaware of the fact that Geraldine was a huge INXS fan?) we got to the police station, to see Sacha sitting on the park bench out the front with Mr Carr.
He waved as we pulled up.
Everyone got out. Geraldine, True and Al wandered over, and I leant against the bonnet of the car. Geraldine and Mr Carr exchanged hellos.
‘So what happened?’ grinned Al. ‘Were you there to witness his arrest, Mr Carr? Were there handcuffs? Did they say “You have the right to remain silent”?’
‘I warned you not to steal from people’s front yards during the day, Sacha,’ said Geraldine.
Sacha shook his head. ‘I was at Bunnings. I needed to replace Jewel’s gnome that I dropped. I didn’t mean to steal them.’
‘How many did you steal?’ asked Al. He was smiling broadly, his eyes lit with excitement.
‘I didn’t get away with any,’ said Sacha. ‘I tried to take four, and I dropped three. I got off with a warning.’
I stepped closer. ‘Why didn’t you just steal the gnome from someone else’s yard?’
‘Because, Jewel, I returned them all this morning, and that would have destroyed the point.’
‘You returned a bunch of garden gnomes just so you could steal some this afternoon?’ said Al. ‘You’re nuts.’
‘I know.’ Sacha smiled. His eyes flickered over the group but avoided me.
‘Ha,’ said True. ‘This was a complete non-event!’
‘I thought you were coming along because you needed to go to the library?’ said Geraldine.
True nodded. ‘I also wanted to see if Sacha had finally lost his mind.’
Geraldine shook her head. ‘So are you giving our little shoplifter a ride home, Jason?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Sorry to inconvenience you.’
‘No worries.’
‘I’m going with you guys,’ Al said to Sacha and Mr Carr. ‘I’ll see you later on, True?’
True nodded.
‘We’d better head off then,’ said Geraldine. ‘Don’t steal any more garden gnomes, Sacha!’
‘I won’t,’ he said, and smiled at Geraldine. Then he looked at me, and we stared at each other, until I turned and walked to the car.
This is what I dreamt that night:
I was swimming again in that endless sea, and the water was thick with blood. I was treading water—blood—in dim moonlight.
Waves started to crash over me so loud and fast I couldn’t hear anything and couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know which way was up—there was no light, only blood.
Someone grasped my hand and dragged me up. My head was above water and I was spitting and spitting out all that blood, but I didn’t spit out blood; I spat out water.
Then Sacha was sitting beside me and stroking my hand, saying over and over and over again, like a prayer, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, everything’s okay.’
This time, Sacha didn’t disappear. But my brother was still gone.