jake

Mum always makes mince pies at Christmas and packs them up in little cardboard boxes with tartan ribbons to hold them in place. I’m not sure why she still makes them. We used to do it together, with my grandad. But now Mum does it alone. She takes some to work for the staff room, and a box to each unit in the block of flats where we live, and then always makes a box for Alex’s mum and dad. So I’m here. On the day before Christmas with Mum’s box of mince pies. I had to catch the train and the tram and then walk to get here.

The house is nothing like what I thought it would be. It’s bigger and grander than Alex’s description. But I guess admitting you live in a mansion to your friend who lives in a dogbox is pretty hard to do.

The front yard is all high fences and plush grass. I’m sure Alex can see me from his bedroom window upstairs, but so far I’ve been standing on the doorstep for five minutes and nobody has come. I’ve knocked. Twice. And then I see the little metal doorbell off to the side, and I realise they probably didn’t hear me knocking because the house is too big.

I hold my finger on the bell for a bit longer than necessary and it’s strangely satisfying.

‘You’re here,’ says Alex, opening the door.

‘Yep, I’m here,’ I say.

‘Come in.’

I follow him inside and it’s like a different world. Alex’s house was always pretty neat and uncluttered but this is something else. The walls are white. The ceiling’s white. Even the carpet is kind of grey-white. There’s hardly any furniture, except a giant beige leather couch with a big wooden coffee table in front of it and a large silvery Christmas tree in the corner. It’s like a display home.

‘We haven’t finished moving all the stuff in yet so it’s a bit bare,’ says Alex, like he can tell what I’m thinking. But then I see a wall of paintings.

‘Wow.’ I don’t recognise any of them from the old house.

‘Yeah, there’s even stuffed deer heads upstairs, and more paintings than anyone knows what to do with. Grandad was really into his art,’ says Alex, sounding as bemused by the place as I am.

‘He must have been really rich.’

Alex laughs. ‘Yeah. I reckon. Sort of makes you wonder about the el cheapo birthday presents he always gave us.’

I realise I’m still holding Mum’s mince pies and I wish I hadn’t offered to deliver them. I hand them to Alex.

‘Happy Christmas,’ I say.

‘Your mum’s? I love these,’ he says, pulling the ribbon off and diving into the box.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. They’re yum. Best part of Christmas,’ he says, shovelling one into his mouth. He holds out the box to me.

‘Want one?’

I haven’t eaten a mince pie since my grandfather’s funeral. I take one out of the box and it starts to fall apart in my hands. I bite into the pastry that Mum rolled all weekend. It’s sweeter than I remember, but Alex is right, it’s yum. I grin at him as he takes another one from the box.

‘Come and check out upstairs,’ he says.

The stairs are carpeted in the same pale carpet as the rest of the house. I run my hand up the bannister, the wood smooth under my fingertips.

‘Sass was furious when she heard you were coming today,’ says Alex as he pauses at the top of the stairs. ‘She’s at a sleepover.’

I like thinking Sass wants to see me. Things haven’t changed too much if that’s the case.

‘My room,’ he says, waving his arm at a doorway. ‘Sass’s room, the spare room, and the bathroom,’ he says explaining the other three doors. ‘Sass likes to say we’re sleeping in the trees up here because you sort of feel surrounded.’

As I walk into his room, I see what he means. His window is huge and at first all I can see is green. I walk over and rest my face on the glass, looking out at the hint of the city through the branches.

‘Cool, huh?’

‘No wonder you didn’t mind moving,’ I say, really meaning it. When Alex doesn’t answer, I turn and see the angry look on his face.

‘I wasn’t meaning it like that, Alex. This place is awesome.’

He takes a minute but then he softens, perhaps happy that I understand.

‘Yeah. It is, isn’t it? Ellie calls it her summer house because she plans on spending all summer here.’

‘Ellie’s been here?’

‘Yeah. A few times,’ he says and then stops, realising why I’m asking.

‘I didn’t mean for her to see it before you did. It just happened like that.’

‘Whatever,’ I say, turning back to the window.

‘Come on,’ he says quietly behind me.

I don’t want to be like this with him. I just want us to be normal. I take a good look around his room. It’s even more like a display home than it is downstairs. The bed’s perfectly made. The rug on the floor matches the doona cover. And all his posters have gone. I wonder where my friend has gone. He’s nowhere to be found in this place.

Alex sits down on the edge of the bed. I see he’s not wearing shoes. Just socks. Maybe I broke a rule by wearing my dirty sneakers into this very clean house.

‘Should I take my shoes off?’

Alex shrugs. ‘Nah, Mum’s out so don’t worry about it.’

I don’t know where to sit. I feel like I don’t belong here. I choose the floor and immediately regret it. Now I’m down low and he’s up high and it’s just all wrong.

‘How you feeling about starting school?’

He laughs. ‘I’m not thinking about it. I figure I’ve got January to get used to the idea.’

I lean back on the rug, not knowing where to look. It’s strange seeing him here. In this room, in this house.

‘How you doing?’ he asks me and it’s so formal, so not us, I frown. ‘Yeah, fine. I dunno.’

‘Yeah, me too.’

As our words dry up in the room, I realise how quiet it is here. There are no hard sounds. No traffic. No horns. I can actually hear birds singing.

‘Where’s Lottie?’

I see his strange look. ‘She died last week.’

‘What?’

‘She got hit by a car. I thought you knew.’

‘Shit.’

He nods and looks down, brushing at something on the doona. ‘Yeah. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see it. Mum had the vet put her down.’

‘Shit,’ I say again.

He looks up at me, his eyes shiny like he’d cry if he could. ‘Made me think, you know … the guy who hit Lottie took her to the vet. So we got phoned. Otherwise she probably would have bled out on the side of the road.’

I know what’s he thinking, but I’ve moved past Lottie being hit to the bit where I want to know why this is the first I’m hearing about it.

‘Did you tell Ellie?’

‘Yeah, course I did. She’s my girlfriend.’

‘Didn’t you think I’d like to know too? I remember when you got her as a puppy.’

Alex stands up, his fists clenched, and I can tell he’s fuming. ‘Shit, Jake. It’s not all about you and me. My dog died. That man is probably going to die. Don’t you get it?’

‘Don’t you get it?’ I’m yelling. ‘Don’t you get it, Alex? You’ve left me. You’re here in your fancy new house and I’m out there. Near the freeway. Alone.’

Alex walks over to me. Right up, so close, he’s leaning over into my face and there’s a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. I’ve never seen this in him before.

‘A man is in a coma because of us. And they may as well put him down like they did with Lottie. Do you get that, Jake?’

I jump up and move back, out of his line of fury. Of course I get it. I get it all. Him leaving. Me staying. Us doing something we can’t undo.

‘I’m going. Nice house,’ I say, storming out of his perfect bedroom. I want him to stop me leaving. I want to stay. I want to hang out in his fancy garden and his upstairs room and talk crap like we used to.

‘Thank your mum for the mince pies,’ Alex yells after me.

‘What flavours?’ says Mum with a shy smile.

I shrug and her smile vanishes. ‘Sorry, Mum. I don’t mind. You pick.’

‘Okay … pistachio and mango?’

‘Sure.’

‘I thought you hated pistachio,’ she says in a worried voice.

The shop is packed. There’s a queue halfway down Lygon Street, if you can believe it. It’s like we’re waiting for our lives to change, not like we’re waiting for an overpriced gelato. But it’s Mum’s idea of spending some time together. She heard about this place from one of the patients at work and she thought it would be nice for us to try it. I think even Mum’s usual optimism has been a bit dinted by the hour-long wait we’ve already spent with all the families and couples out together on this warm summer Saturday evening. There’s nothing like hanging with your mum on a weekend to make you truly feel like you have no life.

‘Strawberry and nougat,’ I say, trying to make an effort because she is and it’s not her fault my life has come to this.

‘I’m going to have banana and Nutella,’ she says, reading the flavours on the board as we inch slightly closer to the front of the line.

Some little girl elbows me in the back and I move forward, trying to get out of her reach. I know she’s not meaning to annoy me, but she’s been whingeing and grumbling for most of the hour and I reckon I’m about to snap at her or her mum.

‘Shall we see if there’s a movie on soon?’ says Mum lightly. ‘Be nice to sit in a cool cinema,’ she says, taking out her phone so she can check the website.

I can’t believe I’m here, with Mum, buying ice creams and seeing movies like we’re on a date.

‘Okay. You choose,’ I say, making her smile.

‘We haven’t been out in ages,’ she says, still scrolling on her phone. ‘How was Alex?’

I know she’s pretending to concentrate on her phone while she asks me this so I don’t glare at her.

‘Good. He said to thank you for the mince pies,’ I say as offhandly as I can.

She looks up, doubt written all over her face. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. It was great to see him in his new place,’ I lie, willing her to look back at her phone.

‘I don’t mind if you go out with him on weekends. Stay over at his place. You don’t have to be home just for me,’ she says gently.

I wish I could tell Mum that she’s not the reason why I don’t leave the house, and why I lie in my bed with the window open, listening for the sounds of cars on the freeway over the back fence. And why when I’m about to be handed a double-cone ice cream that costs almost as much as Mum’s hourly pay rate, I don’t feel like I deserve it. And it actually makes the guilt come thicker and faster than ever. Instead, I nod like I’m taking it all in, like I’m truly considering going to stay at Alex’s, like he actually wants me in his new life.

I listen to Mum order and tune out halfway through. Everywhere I look there’s life. A couple kissing in the queue like they’ve found the perfect way to waste time. Someone walking a dog. People eating burgers on the street. And then there’s me.

‘Here you go, Jake,’ says Mum, passing back the cone.

‘Thanks,’ I mumble and lick the strawberry that’s already melting and dribbling down my hand, as we move out into the balmy night. When I see that Mum just has a small cone, I feel sick at the thought that she’s gone without so I can have the big one.

‘Mum, you have this …’ I say, offering her my ice cream.

‘No. Don’t be silly. This is plenty big enough for me,’ she says and then licks the chocolate in circles.

‘I don’t want it. You have it,’ I say, even though I know this is going to end badly. I can feel it in my body. That charge that makes me yell and sulk and ignore her for days on end. She stops walking and gives me a look.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble, hoping it’s enough. Hoping we can just eat the bloody ice creams, see the movie and go home.

But Mum isn’t content with just surviving the night. She wants it to be memorable. ‘It’s yummy, isn’t it?’

‘Yep.’

‘I know why my patient told me it was so good.’

‘Yep,’ I say, trying to hold it in because she’s not Alex and she’s not the reason I’m so angry.

‘Is everything okay, Jake?’

‘Yep.’ That’s all I can manage. Even after she buttered me up with a giant gelato and a night out. Just a yep.

She walks over to the lit-up window of a bookshop. Inside are people shopping. Mum told me once that if she had spare money she’d buy books. And she’d have a big room at home with shelves on all the walls so she could display them. Now she just watches crappy crime shows on TV and reads the magazines she takes from the patients after they’ve been discharged or have died.

Standing away from her, I can’t help but stare at her back. At thirty-three she doesn’t seem old enough to be the single mother of a surly fifteen-year-old, working night shifts just to keep it together. If I went to jail, then she could start again. Find someone to love and have a baby. One who wouldn’t turn out like me.

I step up to the glass and peer into the window, to see what it is she’s looking at. But then I see her reflection and I realise she’s crying and trying to disappear her tears. She’s still licking her ice cream like that’s the perfect disguise for unhappiness.

‘Is there anything gory on?’ I say, pretending not to notice her tears.

‘Really?’ She looks at me for a second, delight clear in her face. It makes me feel even worse.

‘Yeah. Let’s do it.’

She smiles and for the moment I’ve saved her from knowing just how bad I really am.