After Nothing (17 page)

‘You can’t afford your electricity?’

‘I’ll sort it next week.’

‘Next week?’ Next week was five days away. Kane was living in the cold and the dark because of me? No hot water, no television, no lights. It wasn’t okay. It was beyond not being okay.

I went home and went through Dad’s desk drawers. I took his watch, an engraved gold pen from his work and a weighted silver compass he’d inherited from his grandfather. Then I collected all the gold jewellery I owned. Stud earrings I’d been given for my tenth birthday when I got my ears pierced. A bracelet Dad gave me one of the many times Lisa was admitted to hospital. A solid pair of hoop earrings I bought myself soon after Dad gave me the money Grandma had left me. That was after his first stroke. Maybe he’d known what Mom might do. Maybe he’d known he wouldn’t always be there to protect me.

The only thing that escaped was Kane’s Christmas gift to me. I would rather have starved than sold that necklace.

I took the rest to a tiny caged-in pawn shop and sold it. It didn’t get much, but it was enough to get Kane’s power back on.

‘That shit stinks,’ said Gareth, who had the desk directly in front of mine. He had turned in his seat and was screwing his nose up at the open bottles of nail polish on mine and Melissa’s desks.

We were in history class, and the moment the substitute teacher had walked through the door Mel had taken two bottles of nail polish from her bag, suggesting that she paint yellow tips on my nails, which were currently blue, and that I paint blue tips on her yellow-painted nails.

We weren’t the only ones ignoring the substitute. The whole class had decided they had a free period. About five minutes in, the substitute gave up trying to get the class’s attention and took her cell phone out of her bag.

‘Seriously, women,’ said Gareth, still going on about the nail polish. ‘That shit is giving me a headache.’

I didn’t reply to him but Mel did, telling him to A. go open a window and B. take his attitude elsewhere. Gareth took her up on B., moving to join with the boys laughing and carrying on at the back of the classroom.

‘Nat, is something wrong?’ she said as she leaned over my right hand. ‘Other than your dad, I mean? It feels like something is. You’re so quiet.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I wish you’d tell me,’ murmured Mel, her forehead creasing as she expertly painted along the edge of the nail belonging to my index finger.

I actually wanted to tell her. Wanted to talk to someone about all my fucked-up problems – but I couldn’t tell her my business without telling her Kane’s, and there was no way Kane would want it shared with anyone.

She was painting the tip of my ring finger when I said, ‘I need a job.’

‘A job? I know a job. It’s just scooping ice creams. It’s my cousin Francie’s job. She says she hates it, but it can’t be that bad – she’s been there a year. She’s about to go on an exchange to Amsterdam so she’s giving it up. It’s weekends though, not after school.’

‘Can you call her,’ I asked, ‘and see if they’ve found someone to replace her yet?’

‘Sure,’ said Melissa, shifting my hand so she could do my thumbnail.

‘Mel, I mean now,’ I said urgently. ‘Can you call your cousin now?’

‘Now? Natalie, you know she goes to Lawrence Academy. They’re not allowed their phones in class.’ Mel glanced up from my hand. She must have read the desperation in my face, because suddenly she was reaching for her phone. ‘But, I’ll call her anyway,’ she said, ‘just in case.’

The first weekend scooping ice creams, my right arm started aching within half an hour, and then within an hour my shoulder felt like it was going to fall off. It wasn’t a nice sensation, either, repeatedly putting your arm in a freezer, a latex glove sticking to your skin.

I dreaded my two days there each week. I hated the sickly smell and I hated the crazy people who came in and bought ice creams when it was still winter. Most of all though, I hated losing my weekend with Kane.

The other side of it was that the manager was only twenty-one, and it was his music that played in the parlor. He was supposed to play music from the sixties, but he played old-school hip-hop. I think that was what made that place survivable for me – that and having money.

Three weekends’ pay and I could afford to take Kane out for dinner. Nowhere flash, but still, out for dinner.

When the waiter took our order, I could feel the biggest grin cross my face. After he’d gone I realized Kane was watching me closely.

‘What?’

‘Ain’t seen you smile in a while.’

I felt the grin disappear.

‘Oh shit,’ said Kane, leaning forward and reaching across the table for my hand. ‘Sorry, Baby.’

‘For what?’

‘Reminding you.’

‘About Dad? You didn’t remind me. I always know.’

‘Yeah, but you weren’t feeling down about it. Let’s talk about something else.’

Kane had steak with a side of vegetables and a side of fries. I had lasagne. It was good, and I wondered why on my few adventures into Mom’s kitchen I’d never tried to make it.

I finished eating before Kane, which was unusual.

I ate some of his chips, waiting for him to finish. Finally he put his knife and fork down.

‘I’m quitting school, Kane.’

His head snapped up.

‘No you’re not.’

‘Just listen, okay? I applied for a job weeks ago at a bakehouse and didn’t get it. But the person they gave it to didn’t work out, and the owner rang me today. Out of everyone who applied, she wants to give me a chance. She’s asked me to start next week.’

‘You ain’t fucking quitting school,’ said Kane, loud enough that several people eating nearby turned and looked at us.

‘Actually, I already did, and I’ve given notice at my other job. I have to work out a fortnight, so I’ll be working seven days for the next couple of weeks.’

‘Are you fucking with me right now?’

‘Kane, I want to work. I want to stop doing something I hate, and try to enjoy my life.’

Kane leaned forward, the look on his face changing him into the mean fighter Wayne had wanted him to be.

‘So, what? You gonna bake fucking bread for the rest of your life, Natalie? That’s who you gonna be?’

I crossed my arms, and tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

‘Kane, I can do anything I want. And I don’t need school or your permission to do it. I make my own decisions. And I’ve already made this one.’

Kane stood up so abruptly his chair nearly fell over. I watched him walk away from the table and up to the bar. He’d taken his wallet out and was handing over some cash before I realized he was paying for our meals.

I was supposed to be paying. I’d said I was paying. I knew he couldn’t afford to go out, and here he was paying with what was no doubt his grocery money for the next two weeks.

The look he gave me when I reached his side and said his name kept me quiet for about thirty seconds. It was still his mean fighter look. But once we got outside, we both let loose. It was like that day at school when he’d called me all those names, except this time I wasn’t standing quietly by. I was returning every insult and matching him name for name.

He called me so many bad things, but it wasn’t until he said, ‘You’re a spoilt brat,’ that I saw red. You would have thought that was nothing, right? Compared to being a whore and a bitch. But a spoilt brat is a child, and I wasn’t a child.

I slapped him. As hard as I could. But he could move so fast. It seemed that as soon as the palm of my hand connected with his face, I was yanked forward, both my arms were pinned behind my back and my head was immobilized by his fist gripping my hair. I tried to kick him, but he just angled my body so that it was impossible for me to make contact with any part of him.

‘Let me go.’

Kane pulled my head back further, to the point where it was almost more than I could bear. I could make out his features in the lamplight. His eyes boring down into mine. I felt so exposed – but worse than that, I felt humiliated. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even move my feet, or I would have lost my balance.

He seemed to be waiting for something. An apology or an admission that I was in the wrong. He wasn’t going to get it.

‘You’re hurting my neck, Kane.’ And my wrists too, I realized, when he released them and blood rushed back into the aching flesh.

I carefully and deliberately rubbed the nape of my neck while he watched. The palm of the hand I’d hit him with was stinging with heat. There were people standing round the edges of the street. Not a lot, but a few, enjoying the show. Kane ignored them as he walked off, but I sent an angry glare in their direction before following him.

‘We’ll have more money, Kane.’

He turned to face me. ‘If you just wait another few months I’ll have finished school and we’ll have more money.’

‘But I want to work. And also, I want to move in with you.’

‘You’re not moving in with me.’

‘Kane –’

‘No.’

‘You said we’d move in together.’

‘I said when I finished school we’d move in together.’

‘Why are you being like this?’

‘’Cause you quitting school is a stupid fucking decision. You’ll regret it. I don’t want to be living with you when you do.’

‘You can go to hell,’ I said, and walked off ahead of him.

In no time at all he fell in beside me, slowing his pace to accommodate my smaller stride.

We didn’t talk. In silence, we sat beside each other on the bus, and then he walked me to my front door.

We had sex against the brick wall in the dark of the front porch. It was uncomfortable. The rough brick tore at my back through three layers of clothing. But I was too ‘fuck you’ to complain, and he was too ‘fuck you’ to be more gentle.

I think when he left, he was just as unsatisfied as I was.

Doing 3 am starts at the bakehouse, I found out something. My mother wasn’t home in the afternoons. I’d get home around lunchtime smelling of bread and wide awake, even though I’d been up since the darkest point in the night, and Mom wouldn’t be there.

The first day she got home at two o’clock. The second day, the same. It wasn’t until the third day that she realized I was home at that time.

She asked me why I wasn’t at school.

‘I’ve quit school. I’m working. Haven’t you heard me get up in the middle of the night?’

Her eyes narrowed, like she was thinking, but she didn’t say anything else, or ask me anything further.

That night, while she was in the shower, I took the car keys off their hook in the kitchen and slipped out to the car.

I just wanted a clue. Surely there would be a clue in the car of where she’d been. But I found nothing. I sat in the driver’s seat, all the interior car lights on, wracking my brain for all the possibilities.

I don’t think I sought it out. My eyes just happened to fall on it: the biggest clue of all, right there in front of me. That car – the car that never went anywhere other than to the supermarket – had done ninety thousand miles.

I couldn’t figure it out. Surely that was a lot. But then we’d had the car a while. Mom had bought it after Dad’s second stroke. I’d come home from school one day and our station wagon was gone, replaced with this brand new sedan.

I went inside and rang Kane.

‘What?’

‘Hi.’

‘What do you want?’

I sighed. This had been the extent of our conversations since the weekend.

‘I want to ask you something about my mom’s car.’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘What about it?’

Mom came into my room that night. I was in bed, and asleep. The brightness of my bedroom light coming on woke me. I had Lisa’s headset on; I’d fallen asleep listening to a mix CD Melissa had made me after I’d told her, while drunk, that I preferred listening to music on Lisa’s Discman over my phone. Mom didn’t notice it was Lisa’s Discman. If she had she would have snatched it away.

‘You can move out then,’ she said.

‘Move out?’ I said, blinking at her.

‘You have a job; you can go.’

‘But I live here,’ I said blankly.

‘I want you to leave.’

It started to sink in. Tears welled in my eyes.

‘And go where? I don’t have anywhere to go. I already asked Kane; he won’t let me live with him.’

‘Find somewhere else.’

‘Mom, I can’t afford it. I don’t have enough money. I’ve only just started working full-time. I really don’t have enough money. If you want me to go, you’ll have to give me some. Enough to get a place.’

The look on her face told me her answer. She didn’t care. She didn’t care that I was sixteen. That I’d just lost my dad. That I was getting up every day at three in the morning and walking by myself to an empty bus stop to catch a bus on which the only other passenger was a sleeping homeless man. That I was working for the minimum wage in that bakehouse, not learning to make bread but scrubbing every surface in the place – including the men’s urinal – clean.

‘Dad wouldn’t want you to kick me out,’ I said, imploring her as tears streamed down my face. ‘This is my home. Please, Mom.’

Nothing. She said
nothing
.

Nothing can tear at your heart, invade your brain, make you scream with rage. Or it can leave you silent. There aren’t words to describe the pain when your mother has nothing for you.

She left. She shut my door as she went, leaving me dripping with snot and tears.

I rang Kane, and then couldn’t speak when he answered.

‘Nat? What’s wrong?’

‘Mom’s kicked me out.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At home, but I have to leave.’

‘I’ll come get you.’

‘I didn’t think she’d kick me out.’

‘Fuck that bitch. I’ll be there soon, okay?’

‘Kane, I don’t have anything left.’

‘Just pack some stuff.’

He knew it wasn’t what I meant, but at least his suggestion was practical. I shoved clothes, shoes and toiletries into a couple of bags, and I took an old photo album off my bottom bookshelf. Dust coated my fingers when I picked it up. I opened my door to go into Lisa’s room, but Mom was standing right there, guarding it. My hands tightened around Lisa’s Discman. The mixture of sweat and dust on my fingers made the surface feel gritty. Mom’s eyes followed my hand as I held the Discman over the bannister and then let it go.

It made a soft thump on the carpet of the entrance hall.

Mom didn’t even flinch, but pain rammed into my chest like a battering ram.

‘I’m your daughter too,’ I said. ‘Fuck you, I’m your daughter too. You fucking crazy bitch. What’s wrong with you? I look just like you. I’m your fucking daughter too.’

I grabbed my bags and fled down the stairs. I forgot to grab my coat, and as I went outside, slamming the door shut behind me, the cold took what was left of my breath.

When Kane sped into my street I was shaking and sobbing and gasping on the curb.

The car’s wheels stopped with a screech. I took in the color green, and the silver flash of shiny rims. Kane got out of the car without turning the engine off.

‘I can’t go back in, Kane,’ I said. ‘I don’t have a –’

His arms went around me. He hugged me tight against him, and I buried my face against the solid wall of his chest.

I cried for hours, right through until three in the morning when I had to go to work. I went to get up but Kane, who I’d thought was asleep, told me to stay where I was and to pass him my phone.

‘What’s your boss under?’ he asked, scrolling through my contacts.

The blue light from the phone’s screen lit his face in a soft glow.

‘Thank you for coming to get me,’ I whispered.

He paused, studying my face.

‘It’ll be okay, Nat.’

He left the room when my boss answered her phone. I’m pretty sure he woke her up. He had to repeat who he was a couple times. He then moved further down the hall and I could hear the low tone of his voice, but couldn’t make out his words.

When he came back to bed his skin was cool against mine. I could feel the goosebumps on his arms when he wrapped them around me.

‘Okay?’ said Kane.

‘Yes. Thanks for calling her.’

‘You don’t thank me for anything.’

‘Yes. I’ve got to thank you for everything.’

He kissed me: first my mouth, then my forehead.

I put my index finger to his cheek.

‘I hit you.’

‘Baby, that wasn’t a hit.’

‘Don’t make out it was nothing.’

‘I ain’t. Actually, I’ve never been slapped before, but I think it was a good one. Stung like hell.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Kane cuddled me closer, and a fresh wave of grief washed over me.

When Kane’s breathing was even and his arms had relaxed around me, I moved carefully out of his hold. He stirred.

‘Nat?’

‘Just going to the bathroom.’

I leaned over and kissed his cheek and whispered for him to go back to sleep.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror for a long time. Swollen eyes and a sad tired face. When I tried to force a smile, the best I could achieve was a grimace.

‘Natalie,’ I said to my reflection.

I moved and my reflection moved.

‘I’m alive,’ I said to my own image.

I leaned closer to the mirror. ‘I’m stronger than this.’

I looked at me for a long time, and I thought of Dad, and everything he’d given me. Then I thought of what Mom had given me, and came up with nothing.

I felt my will come alive again.

I was tired and sad. But I was also defiant and angry. And determined. I wasn’t going to lie down and die for that woman just because that’s how she wanted it. I’d leave her life on my terms.