As me and Ash walk home from school, that pain in my chest throbs. Heart attack, the fear pops up. Like my grandfather and Uncle George. Maybe it runs in the family. Of course, neither of them were my age. I struggle to squelch the fear that takes hold.
‘What would you do with the money if you won the Boland?’ Ash asks.
When Steph won the Boland, the money went into the bank – that’s Mum and Dad’s influence: Save! Save! Save! Mum and Dad barely made a fuss about the award itself – they looked at it like some minor school prize. They weren’t meaning to be condescending. They just don’t understand those sorts of things.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘What about you?’
‘I’d put the money down for a car,’ Ash says. ‘I don’t know about the mentoring – I don’t know what I want to do. Not that I’m much chance.’
‘You’re a chance, though.’
‘Yeah. We’ll see. I think it’ll be Deanne, Ethan or you.’
‘Me?’ People keep pointing at me. I don’t get it.
‘Deanne probably gets the best grades and Ethan is the best all-round, but I bet they’ll like that you’re creative.’
That’s what Counsellor Hoffs said. The winners of the Boland Fellowship are listed in the offices. Each winning essay is printed out and framed. I wonder if it would be worth going to read them, just to see if there is a familiar pattern.
We reach the corner where we separate. Ash pauses.
‘Hey, I’m gonna call Riley when I get home,’ he says. ‘See what’s up.’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ll let you know what happened.’
‘Okay.’
It’s only about an hour later that Ash calls me. ‘No answer,’ he says. ‘I’m going over after dinner. You wanna come?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Drop around about seven.’
‘Okay.’
When Mum and Dad get home, I tell them that Steph called in the morning, which annoys them that she didn’t call when they were around. I tell them Steph said she’d call back, but they’re not happy until Steph does call at 6.00, telling them New York is amazing, her hotel room is gorgeous and she can’t wait until they see the rest of the city.
We eat shortly afterward and once I’m done, I tell Mum and Dad I’m going to Ash’s. They grunt and tell me not to be late, so I grab my jacket and jog there. Ash opens the front door before the doorbell’s chime has stopped echoing in the hallway.
‘Sorry – still eating,’ Ash says. ‘Mum was late home from the nuthouse.’
I feel uncomfortable sitting in the lounge, Ash, his brothers, and their dad crowded around the kitchen table, Mrs Handley – still dressed in her nurse’s uniform – fluttering about, trying to answer their demands for food, for drinks, for serviettes.
‘Can I offer you anything?’ she asks me.
I wave her off. ‘No, I’m fine, Mrs Handley. I ate.’
‘How’s school going? Ash says so little.’
‘What’s there to say?’ Ash asks. ‘It’s school. You work with loonies–’
‘Ash!’
‘It can’t be much different.’
Chuckling, Mr Handley gets up and grabs a beer from the fridge. On the way back to his chair, he passes Mrs Handley, who’s reaching up to a high shelf in the pantry to grab some more serviettes. Mr Handley smacks her right buttock, although he claws her for a second too. Mrs Handley yelps and Mr Handley laughs and leers at her as he sits back down. I can’t imagine Mum and Dad ever acting like that.
‘Behave yourself,’ Mrs Handley says.
Mr Handley grins.
‘It’s gross,’ Tom – Ash’s youngest brother – says. The others laugh.
They’ve all got Mrs Handley’s sandy hair, although Marcus and Tom have Mr Handley’s curls. They all look so alike and you can feel the friendliness between them.
Ash shoves his plate away. ‘Gotta go now.’ His chair screeches. ‘Be back in a bit.’
‘Not too late,’ Mrs Handley says. ‘You’ve got school.’
‘I know, Mum.’ Ash grabs his jacket. ‘Come on!’
We’re walking to Riley’s before too long, the zippers of our jackets up and hands numb in the cold.
‘Do you think something’s happened?’ I say.
Now I get thoughts about Riley: cold, measles, broken leg, sick, so sick he’s in hospital, cancer – maybe they just discovered it and he’s been busy with tests the last two days. They all seem impossible. Riley’s indestructible. But that’s a lie. He’s not strong like Ash. Riley’s just… sullen. I can’t imagine that ever changing, and since I can’t imagine that ever changing, I can’t imagine anything ever getting in.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Ash says.
‘Then why doesn’t he answer the phone?’
‘We’ll find out.’
Once we get close to Riley’s, we slow down. The grass at the front is overgrown, and the bins in the drive are overflowing. A light shines in the window and no car sits in the drive.
‘Come on,’ Ash says.
Riley answers on the second ring of the doorbell. He’s had a haircut and it’s spiky – military almost. His socks aren’t pulled up so they flop from his feet like wagging tongues.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Come in.’
Some things become clear as he leads us down the hallway. Any pictures that featured Riley’s dad are gone now. You can see dark square patches on the wall around where the pictures used to hang. Other pictures are gone from the mantel. Some have had Riley’s dad torn out of them.
We sit in the lounge and Riley gets us a beer, although I see when he opens the fridge that the shelves are bare. He offers smokes and we light up like this is our place and we’re adults sitting back to chat. His school folder is on the coffee table, opened to the Legal Studies section. He’s written pages and pages in green pen, with the heading at the top: Essay.
‘Where’s your mum?’ Ash asks.
‘Overtime,’ Riley says. ‘Dad came by yesterday, took his stuff. Mum lost it. I think it finally hit her this is for real. She cleaned out every trace of him.’
‘You okay?’ I say.
Riley shrugs, then takes a drink. ‘Was more worried about Mum, so I stayed home with her. She’s coping now – took yesterday off, but she went back to work today. She needs to get overtime. She can’t afford the house by herself.’
‘So, you might have to move?’ I say.
‘We’ll see.’
‘You coming back to school tomorrow?’ Ash says.
‘I’ll see how Mum’s doing tomorrow. Not really a priority – if it ever was.’
‘What do you mean?’ I say.
‘What are we learning? Like, name me one thing you learned today that you need.’
‘We had meetings with Counsellor Hoffs.’
Riley rolls his eyes. ‘Careers again?’
‘Yep.’
Riley lifts his feet onto the coffee table, planting them right over his essay – like he wants to hide the work he’s put in. ‘What a waste.’
‘You’re gonna have to think about it sometime.’
‘I do think about it – sometimes. But it’s not that important right now. Not like… Guess what?’
Ash and me stare at him.
‘I’m back with Felicia.’
‘Really?’ I say.
‘Spoke to her – I apologised.’
‘You apologised?’ Ash asks.
‘I apologised.’
‘You apologised?’
‘I apologised – what’s wrong with that? It’s not like I did anything wrong, but it’s what she wanted to hear. You should apologise to Rachel.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s mad at you – they all are. Felicia told me.’
‘And then what?’
‘Just to get them back on side.’
‘I’ll see,’ Ash says. ‘So, where’d you leave it with Felicia?’ ‘Going to Ethan’s birthday together. We should get him something. We’ll chip in, right?’
‘Sure.’
‘Felicia and me will organise it and you can fix me up.’
‘Cool,’ Ash says.
‘Speaking of birthdays,’ Riley lifts his can of beer towards me, ‘yours this week.’
‘Already?’
Riley chuckles. ‘It’s your birthday – how don’tcha know when it is?’
It’s not that I don’t know but time’s just become a mess. But he’s right – it’s my birthday this Sunday. An occasion that should bring some joy and anticipation means so little right now.
Riley toasts his can of beer against mine. ‘We should do something.’
‘Like?’
‘We’ll see.’
We talk for the next twenty minutes about little things – about who else is going out with who in the school, who’s reported to like who, who has it in for who, and equally meaningless stuff that’s mostly gossip. But it fills the time as we finish our beers, at which point Ash shoots to his feet.
‘We should go,’ he says.
Riley walks us to the door and we say our goodbyes just as his mum pulls up in the drive in her little brown Civic. We smile and say hello but once we’ve left Riley’s house behind, Ash grows surly and he doesn’t talk much, which is okay because my chest has grown tight again. It’s not until we get back to Ash’s house that I find the courage to prod him.
‘You okay?’ I ask.
‘Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?’
I nod and head off into the night.