Give Me Truth (2 page)

‘Muum! Kadey's making fun!'

We're in the kitchen, me in my PJs, Rory in his basketball uniform. Shorts and shiny blue singlet. All stick-legs and pretzel arms – still thinks he's Superman. He's been dressed and ready to go for an hour. It's 8.30 now. Dad hasn't left his bedroom yet. Very odd.

‘That's not true, Mum,' I say. ‘He's making it up.'

‘Am not! She poked her tongue out!'

‘No, no. I was
showing
you my tongue – here, have another look.'

‘Muuum, Muuum! Kadey did it again!'

‘You're such a dobber, Rory.'

‘Am not!'

I silently mouth the words back at him.

Am not. Am not.

‘Mum. Tell her to stop. She's mean.'

‘Don't tease him, Caitlin.'

‘You're kidding, right? How can I have any fun if I can't tease him? Isn't that the whole reason why little brothers were invented?'

Mum is at the sink, staring out the window. There's nothing out there but trees and clothes flapping on the line. I'm much more interesting; doesn't she know that by now?

She always sits at the table with us when we have breakfast. So does Dad. Something feels strange about today.

‘Just give it a rest,' she says. ‘Can you do that for me?'

Mum hasn't slipped into her Saturday morning voice yet. The one I hear is Monday morning. Tired and edgy.

‘Kadey, Kadey.'

Rory sticks his fingers into the glass and flicks me with orange juice.

‘Eerrggh. That's gross.'

‘Heeheeheee …'

‘You have to talk to him, Mum. He – '

‘You started it!'

‘Yeah, and I'll finish it too.'

I lunge across the table at him.

‘Muumm!'

‘Enough! Enough! I don't want to hear another word!
Shut up, will you! Both of you! Shut up!'

I freeze. Mum never yells. She must have had a hard night at the hospital. Maybe someone died. A bad road accident, something like that.

Rory sinks low in his chair, his mouth clamped shut. I think he's holding his breath. Or maybe he's too afraid to breathe. I feel Mum's eyes on us, tearing us apart. Everything becomes so quiet, so quickly. When I chew my cornflakes the noise sounds big to me, like I'm stomping over crisp autumn leaves. I hear the clock ticking. Every second has its own voice.

Rory exhales. He lifts his eyes cautiously. ‘Did I do something wrong, Mum?'

‘No. No.'

I stand. ‘We were only mucking around.'

Mum bows her head. She hides her eyes with a hand. Is she crying? She couldn't be. I start towards her but at the same moment she throws down the dishcloth and bolts from the room.

Rory sniffles. ‘I made Mum sad.'

I go to him. Rub his back. ‘It's not your fault, Rore.'

Sniffle, Sniffle.

‘It's
my
fault,' I tell him.

He brightens up immediately.

‘All right, then.'

‘Finish your breakfast,' I say. ‘I'll be back in a few minutes.'

‘Where are you goin', Kadey?'

‘To see Mum. Stay here. Eat.'

 

My parents' bedroom door is shut.

‘Mum.' I tap lightly. ‘Can I come in?'

I hear raised voices. She's with Dad.

Seconds later the door bursts open and he stalks out. As he does, words are hurled at him from inside the room.

‘You're a
shit
, Alan.'

It's not just what she says that startles me – Mum doesn't talk like that – it's where the words come from. They're barbed and ugly, full of hate. That's not Mum.

Dad pushes the door closed. His face is pale. He sees me. In his eyes I catch a glimpse of a frightened bird. He looks away. Keeps going.

I call after him. ‘Dad. Dad. Wait. What's the matter with Mum?'

He stops. For a moment he doesn't turn around. I get his back, nothing more. It's like he's deciding whether to stay or run.

‘What's going on?'

Now he faces me. ‘It's okay, Caitlin. Your mum's a bit upset, that's all.'

‘Why did she go off at you like that?'

‘Aw, you know. It's one of those things. We had an
argument. Happens in the best of families. It'll blow over. I'd rather you just forget about it. Okay?'

‘Sure … but I think she was crying before, Dad.'

‘Was she? Right … well, it's nothing for you to be concerned about.' He tries to smile it all away but stops. It isn't working. ‘Well. I'll take Rory to basketball. Is he ready?'

‘Has been for ages … you think I should I go in and talk to Mum?'

‘Probably not a good idea. Better stay clear for a while. Give her some time to settle down.'

He starts to leave but changes his mind.

‘Caitlin.'

‘Yes, Dad?'

He stands poised on the edge of saying something. But he can't manage it. Instead he lurches forward awkwardly. Pecks me on the cheek. The look he gives me. Lingering and deep. I feel like there's a secret code he's sending. I wish I knew how to read it.

‘I better go.' He nods to himself and heads to the kitchen, his voice booming. ‘Rory, where are you? Where's that basketball champion?'

 

I pause in front of the bedroom door. Any other Saturday we'd be curled up on Mum's bed as soon as ‘the boys' were out of the house; scoffing crumpets, drinking hot chocolate,
sharing each other's stories. It's always been our special day. I know Dad said to leave her alone, but that doesn't seem right. I open the door just a crack. There's nothing but silence. Maybe she's asleep. A floorboard creaks as I tiptoe in. Mum sits up in bed.

‘I can't talk to you now, Caitlin.' She doesn't sound angry. ‘Please go.' It's sadness I hear.

‘Okay, Mum. But you're all right?'

‘I'm fine. Really.'

 

I'm on my bed, multi-tasking: read a chapter of a book, put it down and listen to a CD track, take a whirl around the TV stations, go back to the book. Most of all, I think about Mum. She's not the type to crumple up so easily. And what's with her and Dad? They don't even fight over the remote. I tell myself that it will blow over, like Dad said, and I slip back into the cycle – the book, the CD –

My mobile rings. Megan.

‘It's me.'

‘Hi, me.'

‘You with your mum?'

‘Not today. She's busy.'

‘What are you doing then?'

‘Plenty. Heaps. I'm flat out. You?'

‘Same. Bored out of my brain.'

It's handy having a friend who can read your mind.

‘But never fear,' she adds, ‘I know something we can do. You up to auditioning for a play?'

‘A play … when?'

‘Now.'

‘Thanks for the warning.'

‘Glenna's doing it – I'll ring her next to let her know – I'm doing it. I don't think you've got a choice, Caitlin.'

‘Yes, I have.'

‘Are we the three musketeers or the two?'

‘You mean the three stooges.'

‘Old joke. You in?'

Sigh. Shrug.

‘Might as well.'

 

I leave a note on my bedroom door.

Waiting for me when I get off the bus is the tall and gorgeous Megan, she of the long silky black hair. Honestly, I could get an inferiority complex just being in the same
suburb as her. I tell her all the time, put on weight, let yourself go, make cellulite your mission in life. She doesn't listen. But what can I do? She's my friend. Always has been.

‘I knew you wouldn't let me down, Caitlin.' She hugs me hello. Megan likes hello hugs and goodbye hugs. She doesn't do it every time – probably to stop people thinking she's part bear – but she does it a lot. Her whole family's like that. When one of her cousins comes back from an overseas trip about fifty rellos turn up at the airport and hug them to death.

‘Come on,' she says, ‘Glenna's waiting for us at the coffiee shop.'

On the walk there she tells me the play is one of Miss Boyle's efforts. I'd already guessed it. Until she retired Miss Boyle was our English teacher. Now amateur theatre is her hobby. She can be a bit of a dragon sometimes, but she's a nice dragon.

We round a corner and see Glenna sitting outside the coffiee shop, head down and pen hard at work on another masterpiece. Glenna writes poetry. Her hair is dyed jet black with thick strands falling over one eye. She also has a blood-red tattoo of a heart on each arm. All part of the poet uniform. No one understands her writing except her, but her friends (grand total: two) are always full of encouragement.

She waits until we sit down and then she tells us what's
on her mind. ‘About this play. Is it too late to say no?'

Megan replies, ‘Yes.'

‘The thing is, I'm not comfortable with being up on stage, having people watch me.'

‘Don't be silly, Glenna. No one will be watching
you
. Not if I'm there.'

‘You're so up yourself,' I tell her.

She feigns a look of shock. ‘Moi?'

‘Yeah,' I say, ‘moi!'

Megan takes this as a cue to do her supermodel routine. She pouts for invisible cameras, poses dramatically, mouth in an O, eyes staring.

I use the salt shaker as a microphone. We've played this game before.

‘Can I interview you, Miss World?'

‘One question only,' Megan purrs. ‘My private jet is waiting.'

‘Okay. One question it is. How come you use a jet when a broom is so much cheaper?'

The two of us fall about laughing. And then Megan remembers Glenna.

‘So anyway, Glenny, you're going to do the play, right?'

‘Can I think it over?'

‘There's no time for that. Miss Boyle's depending on you.'

‘No, she's not.'

‘She is! I ran into her at the shops. She said there's been no interest at all in the auditions. I told her she could rely on us. You'll do it, won't you, Glenny? It's going to be so much fun. Say you will.'

‘Oh, I suppose so. If you really need me.'

‘Fantastic!'

Megan jumps up to hug her but Glenna suddenly looks alarmed. ‘Sit down,' she hisses. ‘Sit down.'

‘What's happening?'

‘Don't turn around. It's that weird boy.'

‘They're all weird,' I say. ‘Which one do you mean?'

‘Yesterday. He was on the bus waving like a lunatic.'

‘Oh. That one. He
is
a lunatic.'

‘I thought he was cute,' says Megan.

‘They're crossing the road. Two of them. Heading straight for us. Don't look. Ignore them.'

Megan stands up, turns around, has a really good look.

‘What are you doing?'

‘Being friendly.' She flicks on her dazzling smile.

Glenna groans.

I look too. They're so different. One has black hair and is solidly built, not too hard on the eyes, either. The other is the lunatic waver. He has a thick tangle of orangy red hair and he's skinny and gawky-looking. His smile is way out of control.

‘How's it goin'?'

They're here.

‘I'm Lanny – Lanny Pringle.' Big cheesy smile. ‘And this is me mate, Richard Head.'

The good-looking one rolls his eyes. ‘Ignore him. I do. It's David Curtis. Hi.'

‘You're the Smith's Hill Girls, right?' The smiling crazy one says this.

‘That's us,' admits Megan.

‘I bet you don't remember me. I'll give you a clue.' He waves frantically, just like he did on the bus.

‘I've got it,' I say. ‘We saw you at the beach. You were drowning.'

‘Nooo – I was wavin' – from the bus.'

‘Ohh, really?'

Megan hides her face behind a menu. She's battling not to laugh out loud.

‘I was with him,' David says, ‘but I didn't wave.'

‘No, that's right. He wanted to moon yers. I had to stop him.'

‘Lanny, don't make me kill you.'

Everyone's smiling. Except Glenna. She's always been shy around boys.

‘I think we should go now. I don't want to be late.' She pushes her chair away from the table and stands. ‘We're auditioning for a play.'

She gets a shock then, and so do I. David steps forward and shakes her hand.

‘Good to meet you,' he says. ‘I didn't catch your name?'

‘It's Glenna. Hi.'

I watch her neck turning bright pink as though it's been injected with a dye.

‘I'm Caitlin Stewart.'

‘I'm Megan.'

We each get a warm handshake.

His weird friend isn't into handshakes. He slouches against a wall, rubbing his chin as if he's locked deep in serious thought.

‘A play,' he mutters. ‘I've always wondered what it would be like to be an actor.'

No one takes much notice.

‘Catch you later,' says Megan as we start to file out.

I say goodbye with a smile, but I only look at David.

Glenna whispers, ‘See you.'

We're almost out of there when we hear, ‘Hang on a sec – can anyone audition for this play?'

‘I think so.'

‘Cool. You mind if we go with you?'