Give Me Truth (14 page)

I know Dad hasn't killed anyone. He couldn't possibly. But as I stare at his battered knuckles I'm no longer sure of anything.

‘Tell me what happened,' I say. ‘You didn't really hurt someone, did you?'

‘Yes, I did. I knocked him down, but that wasn't enough for me. I was choking him, David. He'd stopped fighting. I think he'd accepted that he was going to die. And he was. He was.'

I can't hear the baby crying anymore. The waitress with the smile is gone. I'm back in the darkness of Dad's world. His words flow out in a long line without highs or lows. It's the type of voice you'd take to the shops to buy bread and yet he's talking about murder.

‘I heard the screams of the people around me but their faces were a blur. I had my whole weight on this man's chest and no one could move me. I felt no sorrow. No pity. I wanted him dead.'

‘But you didn't kill him!' I say it loud enough for people to turn their heads. ‘Just tell me you didn't do that.'

‘No.' He shakes his head. ‘No, thank God, I didn't kill the man. Only because of you. It was only you that stopped me, David.'

‘Me? What do you mean?'

‘A small boy ran out. He was much younger than you – I realise that now – he wasn't anything like you. But in my crazy head I saw a memory in that boy, and he
was
you. He made me stop and look around and I suddenly realised what I was doing.'

‘Who was this guy, Dad? What did he do to you?'

‘It doesn't matter now.'

‘Did it have anything to do with Mum?'

He looks up at me sharply.

‘What are you saying, David?'

‘Nothing. I'm trying to work it out, that's all. You know, Mum leaves with me and Allie and then an hour later – two hours – whatever it was – you go to this guy and … Unless you didn't go to him. Maybe you were out driving and just got into a fight. Road rage or something. Is that how it happened?'

Dad slides his wedding ring up over his finger and
down again. I almost think he's going to throw the ring away, but then he pushes it back in place and leaves it there.

‘David, I have never lied to you. Do you know that?'

‘Yes.'

‘So I'll tell you the truth now – once only – and we'll never talk about this again. Agreed?'

‘Fine by me.'

‘All you need to know is this: Everything that happened was my fault. Mine alone. If you are ever looking for someone to blame – here I am.'

He stares at me and when I nod and say ‘Okay', it's like signing a contract that I can never go back on. The subject is closed. I don't fully understand it, but that's all right, I don't want to know any more than he's prepared to tell. I trust him.

‘I'm glad you told me,' I say, ‘about last night. But that's all over now, Dad. The main thing is you didn't kill anyone. You got into a fight, that's all. Nothing has changed. You can come home.'

‘Nothing has changed? I have lost my family and my self respect. I have become exactly like my father – the person I despised. David, look at me … everything has changed.'

He stands and takes out his wallet.

‘You ready to go?'

Before I can answer he tosses some money on the table.

Outside dark clouds track us as we walk through the
streets. Dad pauses at a shop window. He asks me to help him find something that Allie would like for her birthday. I choose a ballerina music box. The lady in the shop makes sure it works. When she turns the key music plays and the ballerina dances. Dad watches it intently, as if it's really Allie in the pink dress.

‘If it's a present I can gift-wrap it for you,' the lady says.

‘Thank you. That would be nice. It's for my daughter. Her birthday. She's twelve soon.'

‘Oh, they're lovely at that age. It's a priceless time.'

Dad has to look away. I stand in front of him but the lady knows what's happening. She wraps the music box in silver paper and when he pays her she nods her head a fraction and smiles warmly. It's all done without words, a whole conversation that leaves them knowing each other and understanding.

 

Back at the car we find a parking ticket under the wiper. Dad crunches it up and throws it in the gutter. We clamber into our seats but he doesn't start up the engine.

‘We can still go fishing if you like,' I say. I really don't want to do it, but it's a good excuse to stay with him a little longer.

‘No, we can't.' Dad puts his hand on the side of my head and ruffles my hair. It's been a while since he did that. ‘You and I aren't going any further. When you get on the
bus, borrow a phone and ring home. Your mother will pick you up when you arrive.'

I cringe at the mention of the bus. I'm tired of fighting Dad, but I have to. I draw my knees up in front of me and lock my arms around them. That's all I can do. I've got nothing left.

‘David.' He looks out the window, not at me. ‘We've both come a long way today. Maybe we've even got a bit closer. I don't want to force you. When it comes, walk onto the bus like a man and make me proud.'

‘But I'm not a man. I'm sixteen. I don't want you to be proud of me if it means I don't see you again.'

Now Dad looks at me. ‘You
have
to do it. You don't have a choice.'

‘Yeah, and when the bus pulls out, are you going to drive into a tree? Is that the plan?'

‘I'm sorry I said that. I shouldn't have. There is no plan. I don't know what I'm going to do. I just need time to work things out.'

‘How much time?'

‘I don't know. As long as it takes.'

We hear a bus approaching. Dad leans into the back seat to get my bag. He won't give in. In a couple of minutes I'm going to be on that bus whether I like it or not. There's only one more thing I can try.

‘I'll do it,' I tell him. ‘Walk on like you said. Make you proud. But will you do something for me?'

‘If I can. What is it?'

‘Promise you'll come home.'

‘I'll do my best.' He drags my bag over into the front seat. ‘We better go.'

‘It doesn't have to be today or tomorrow – just when you're ready.'

There's no answer.

‘What am I going to tell Allie, Dad?'

‘I wish I knew …' He shuts his eyes. ‘Tell her I love her. Always.'

The bus pulls in behind us. We get out of the car. I'm writing it all down in my head, for later. The smell of diesel hot in the street. Dad with his shorts and knobbly knees. His face looks softer than I've ever known it, as if all the tears have melted his toughness. His hands rest lightly on my shoulder. I'm going away from him and I feel like I've just met him. We listen to a motor whirr and the door snaps open. Dad pays my fare. He sits with me. ‘Just until the bus goes.' Five minutes, that's all we've got left.

‘You'll remember to give Allie the present, won't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘I should have bought something for you. I didn't think. I'm sorry.'

‘That's okay, Dad. There's nothing that I want.'

Strangely, but predictably, the words dry up after that. We're sitting in this bus like two strangers, two people
who are never going to see each other again. The driver turns over the motor and it clicks away, counting off the minutes, the seconds, before I have to say goodbye.

I stand up and push past Dad.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Won't be a sec.'

Two seats up there's a woman Mum's age. Could be a teacher or an office worker the way she's dressed. I ask for a favour and she dips into her bag and comes up with a pen.

Back with Dad, I take his hand and scribble a date on it.

‘That's the opening night of my play. It starts at eight. The school hall. Maybe I'll see you there.' He nods. No expression on his face. Not a shred of hope. So I make my own hope. ‘Great. I'll be looking out for you. You can sit next to me in the lighting box.'

The driver raises his voice for our benefit. ‘All set to go now, folks.'

Dad stands. He puts out his hand but I don't want it. I hang on to him. Writing every breath down in my head. Capital letters. He hugs me back. Just for a moment. We don't say goodbye. He turns and walks.

I've had this dream before. I wander through the house and every room is empty. I call out to Mum and Dad and Rory and there's only silence. There is no furniture, no ornaments on the mantel, no souvenirs of trips or family photos. It's a ghost house and even when I sit up, wide awake, the memory haunts me. I jump out of bed and open the blinds to a blue and pink sky and noisy birds that have never been so welcome. Soon a frypan sizzles and Rory gallops down the hall, always in such a hurry to arrive at nowhere. I wait and listen, knowing what I'll hear next but needing it for reassurance. Mum's voice. Dad's voice.

The dream was wrong. They're still together.

Dad was packed and ready to leave, until Mum relented. ‘I'm not giving any guarantees,' she said. ‘Just
one more chance, and I can't say I'm very hopeful.'

That was six weeks ago. Hard weeks. Things ran hot and cold between Mum and Dad. They both tried so hard, but two weeks ago Mum packed a bag and tossed it into her car. ‘I have to get away for a while,' she said. ‘I need to breathe.'

Dad kept telling me and Rory not to worry. ‘Your mum will come home,' he said. ‘She's just a bit sad right now.'

She rang us every night, and yesterday she came home. I was so glad to see her.

The bad dream fades rapidly as I wander out to the toilet in time to see Dad leaving with Rory for basketball. It's their Saturday morning ritual and they love it. As I head back, Mum calls me into her room. She's having a picnic of crumpets on her bed. There's a plate for me, too, and a mug of hot chocolate.

‘I've kept a place for you.' She taps the pillow beside her. ‘Where have you been? I've missed you.'

I thought this would never happen again. I hop onto the bed before she can change her mind.

‘Well, it's the big day,' she says. ‘
Cyrano
tonight. You must be so excited.'

‘I guess. But all I really care about is that you'll be there. You and Rory and Dad – he
is
coming with you, isn't he?'

‘Yes.'

She smiles as a thought crosses her mind.

‘Tell me.'

‘He asked if he could sit next to me – if I'd mind. We haven't been out together for so long, he thought he should check.'

‘You said it was okay?'

‘I had a moment of weakness.'

Mum has scars that run deep. They're still raw and she's more like a cactus with Dad than a rose, ready to spike him if he gets too close. Watching them together, there's a moment in every day when I wonder if it will be their last. But when Mum lets her guard slip, as she does now, it feels like sunshine in the middle of winter.

‘So what's been happening?' She holds her mug close to her lips like it's a musical instrument. ‘It seems so long since we've had a good talk.'

I tell her these things:

Megan is still dating Jimmy the rock singer. Only now he calls himself James and he's working as an apprentice plumber. He's given up singing. By popular demand.

Glenna is deep into poetry, as always. I can understand a lot of her poems now, especially when she writes about feelings. And the really big news about Glenna is that she's made it crystal clear that she likes David, and he likes her just as much.

I'd told Mum before about David's parents breaking up. Now she shakes her head sadly when I tell her his dad still hasn't come home.

‘How is David coping?'

I can only guess at an answer. ‘I think he's doing all right, Mum.'

Boys don't tell you much. I do know that he hopes his dad will make it to the play tonight. It's unlikely to happen if you ask me, but you can't give up hoping.

‘And what about Lanny?'

I thought she'd never ask.

‘Well, you know how he keeps asking me to go out?'

‘Hmm.'

‘Next week it's on – the big date.'

‘Really? Where's he taking you?'

‘The monster truck show.'

She moves in closer to get a better look at me. Am I really her daughter?

‘I know, Mum. Don't say it. I think it's dumb, too. It's just that he's been trying to get me to go out for ages and he finally wore me down.'

‘But you hate monster trucks – don't you?'

‘I was trying to be nice.'

‘You must really like him.'

‘I do. That's the trouble.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘I only
like
him, Mum. I mean, that's not enough. I don't love him or anything like that. It would be so much easier if I did. I've tried hard to make it happen but it just won't.'

‘Oh, Caitlin. That's silly. You can't make yourself love someone. And why would you want to anyway?'

‘Okay. I'll tell you. This is going to sound pretty stupid … but I think he might love me.'

Mum says the perfect thing: ‘Why is it stupid that someone would love you? You're my Caitlin. You're beautiful.'

She has to say that. It's in the mother-daughter contract. I'm not fooled. It's not even a little bit true. But I still fall into her arms. Crying isn't bad at all when you have someone to catch you. I cry for me and for Lanny. For Mum and Dad. And for all the Davids in the world whose fathers won't come home tonight.

‘But what am I going to do about Lanny? Sooner or later I have to tell him the truth.'

Mum rocks me to and fro. ‘Yes, you have to tell him … but leave it a while. You never know, one day the truth might change.'

 

‘You all look wonderful!' Miss Boyle stands at the dressing room door. ‘Now please remember that the curtain goes up in fifteen minutes. And we will start
precisely
on time. Does anyone have any final questions?'

Lanny's hand flies up. He sneaks a glance at me and winks. Miss Boyle sees it. She steps towards him and narrows her eyes in a kind of mad chook impersonation. ‘I hope this is going to be a sensible question. Is it?'

‘Ye-ah.'

‘Very well then. Ask.'

‘I forget what play we're doin'.'

‘Hilarious.' She snaps a glare back over her shoulder. ‘No one is to laugh.' Then her sour face zooms to Lanny.‘ The play we are doing is
Cyrano de Bergerac
. You are playing the fool – as always.' She claps her hands. ‘Chop-chop, everyone. We now have
fourteen
minutes before the curtain goes up.'

David pokes his head in the door for a final hug and a kiss on the cheek for me and Megan. Glenna gets that and more. They embrace. That's a few steps up from a hug. No full-on kissing, not in front of everyone – especially Miss Boyle who's sewing a button on Cyrano's jacket – but there's feeling enough there for Glenna to write several new poems. When he reaches Lanny the two of them turn into bear cubs. It starts with a friendly thump on the arm and two back for good measure. Lanny is keen for more but Miss Boyle is not impressed. ‘That's enough of your nonsense,' she says. ‘There is no room for brutality in the theatre. We leave that to the critics.'

Before he goes, David casually slips in a message.

‘Hey, if anyone's looking for me, can you send them to the lighting box?'

‘You mean your dad?' asks Lanny.

‘Yeah. I've been waiting out front but I haven't seen him. No one's asked for me, have they?'

No one has.

‘Okay, then. I better get ready.'

He stands there awkwardly as if there's something more he wants to say but he can't get it out. Glenna flies to the rescue.

‘I think your dad
will
get here.' She holds both his hands. ‘I've had this feeling all day that you'll see him. I'm really sure of it.'

‘Hope you're right,' he says. ‘I know he'll make it if he can.'

He smiles, then bounds off. We all cross our fingers for him.

Now I settle back to concentrate on remembering my lines. Megan and Glenna concentrate on scaring each other.

‘I am so nervous. Are you?'

‘Oh yeah. Big time. Have you seen the size of the crowd?'

‘I know. There has to be three hundred people out there.'

‘Tell me about it. I expected, like, fifty tops.'

‘I feel nauseous – like I'm going to throw up.'

‘Ohmigod – so do I!'

I can't resist being helpful. ‘Look, if it happens, just pretend it's part of the play. No will know.'

‘Not funny, Caitlin.' They both say that.

 

There's time for one peep through the curtains. In the centre of the second row I see Rory, wide-eyed and
looking all around. He's never been to a play before. I hope he doesn't rush up to save me when the sword-fight starts. Mum and Dad sit on each side of him. It looks like they're out on a very rocky first date, but they're here. I can't ask for more.

‘Two minutes, people. Stand by.'

Miss Boyle charges from one actor to the next, straightening costumes, checking make-up and props, fussing to the last. Then with a cheery, ‘Good show!' she darts off to attend to who-knows-what and we're left on our own. Lanny decides it's the perfect opportunity to practise karate. He thrusts and chops at the curtain. It's either his way of dealing with nerves or it's insanity. I don't think he gets nervous. Megan prays softly. And she's not even religious. Glenna is pale and wobbly on her legs. She whispers to me, ‘I don't think I can do it.' I squeeze her hand. ‘You can. You will.'

I'm glad Miss Boyle isn't watching this. She'd have a fit. Lucky they have me to pull this thing together. I'm very confident. I know my lines perfectly. I don't have a single twitchy nerve.

‘Curtain going up – now!'

The others walk on but I wait for my cue. Lively music begins and a spotlight falls on Megan, who like Glenna and Lanny, stands like a petrified tree.

From the side of the stage, Miss Boyle commands, ‘Begin!'

Megan finds courage and the words follow. Then Glenna
speaks. Fear rattles her voice as well as her legs, but she doesn't run. With every new second I hear her grow more assured. Lanny joins in next and he's good. They all are.

All too quickly I hear: ‘It's him! Cyrano! The king of jesters!'

Boldly I step out into the lights. I'm ready for this. Can hardly wait. But then the enormity of it all hits me. I'm standing in front of a monster with six hundred eyes and every one of them is trained on me. I'm not an actor. I've never been on stage before. Now the words I've memorised so well evaporate. I hear Miss Boyle booming my lines but I can't speak, can't think. My nervous system has bubbled into meltdown and I freeze. I don't even have strength enough to fall flat on my face.

But then Lanny is beside me. Smiling, he slaps me on the back. All the words fly out as if released from a trap. I say them like Cyrano would, with passion and courage, with charisma! I leave Caitlin far behind as I brandish my sword and leap around the stage, duelling with a hundred men. And I crush them all. At the end of the scene someone in the audience claps. It's very embarrassing because you're not supposed to clap until interval. But I forgive you, Dad. We all do.

 

The play lasts for one hour. Every minute of it is an electric charge. One that lights me up until I think my
world can never be dark again. Only when it's long over, when we've taken our bows and the audience files out of the hall, do I remember to look at the lighting box.

David sees me and smiles. He's on his own.