Letters from the Inside (5 page)

Cheryl’s got one thing in common with you though. She wouldn’t talk about it — not one damn word.

May be the world’s full of Steves. Maybe Steve’s the man of the future, and in a few more years the world will be run by Steves.

Now that Easter and Anzac Day are over it’s going to be two weeks here of Steve and me, me and Steve. And if you don’t think I feel sick at that idea, you don’t know me too well.

So, have a good holiday Trace!

Love,

 
Mandy

Apr 27

Dear Trace,

Sorry about the letter I sent this morning. I was burned-off at everyone and everything, like I’ve been a lot lately. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote, but think it was a bit depressing and sarcastic. So, sorry.

Today’s been good actually. Steve went to town about ten o’clock and he isn’t back yet. Mum and Dad’ll be late. So I’ve had a peaceful day, doing nothing. Rebecca rang up for a goss and talked for an hour and a half — the rest of the time I’ve been reading this great great book,
Bound for Glory.
Do you know it? It’s amazing. By Woodie Guthrie.

Anyway, I won’t rave on like I normally do. I just wanted to tell you to ignore any bits in the last letter where I sounded more raggy than usual — as far as you were concerned, anyway.

Hey listen, here’s a good idea! Why don’t you ring me? 762398. Or is that a good idea? Maybe we should keep it at letters. Anyway, you decide!

Take care,

         
Mandy

May 1

Dear Mandy,

Both your letters came in the same mail so it was OK — I didn’t mind. Anyhow, you hadn’t said anything that bad.

We got back yesterday actually. Dad had this sudden thing that he wanted to go to Porpoise Beach, so off we went. Skye and Dean managed to get away too, so the whole family was there.

I was going to send you a postcard but I forgot to take your address, and I couldn’t remember if it was 438 or 348. I should remember, after all this time.

Anyhow, we had a great holiday. It only rained one afternoon. There was a heated pool at the hotel and I hung out in that nearly every day. Met this incredible hunk called Greg. Talk about a stud — he goes in ironman events, and he was an ironman all right, in more ways than one. The rest of the time he works as a lifesaver at the pool. He’s a lot older than me but I don’t care, even though my parents weren’t too happy.

Greg’s father had a Porsche and Greg borrowed it to take me out. We went to restaurants and nightclubs and everything — it was ace. You feel so good riding in those things. People look at you as if you’re really someone.

I packed on a few ks, but it was worth it. We pigged out every day, on crayfish and prawns and steaks and pizzas — it’s the best I’ve eaten in my life.

Greg is a special guy — caring and gentle, but strong too. He’s already rung since we got back, and I’m hoping he’ll come down in a few months. Or maybe I’ll go up there again.

Don’t know what’ll happen with Casey. I don’t want to tell him about Greg — hope he doesn’t find out. The thing is, I like them both. They’re both so nice, and good-looking. Greg’s one of those guys, like that golfer, I can’t remember his name, big and blond, all muscle. Casey looks like James Morrison — you like the Doors? — so they’re different to each other. But I know every girl who sees them is jealous of me.

So, hope your holidays are going well, and that Steve’s behaving himself. We’re not doing much else, but I’d better do a bit of riding the next few days — my horse has put on a few ks too, plus I need the practice.

See you!

      Love,

  
Tracey

May 4

Dear Trace,

Thank God it’s Friday, that’s all I can say. Good name for a movie, hey? Actually, it’s a bad name for a movie — it was the worst movie I’ve ever seen.

Anyway, the best thing about today is that it’s the last weekday of the holidays. I never thought I’d be glad to see a holiday end, but I’ve learnt a few things. And although there’s still Saturday and Sunday to go, Mum and Dad’ll be home both days.

Even though you obviously don’t want to know about Steve, all I can say is tough titties. There’s nobody else I can talk to — well, there’s people I can talk to but I don’t want to. It’s safer writing to you, because I don’t have to look at any faces and see the expressions — embarrassment, mostly. And I don’t have to listen to their meaningless replies: ‘You’ve been watching too many movies.’ . . . ‘You’ve got too much imagination Mandy.’ ‘He’s not that bad.’ ‘Just keep away from him.’ ‘Lock your door.’

Really helpful. Thanks a lot guys.

No, I know some of them, especially Cheryl, do try. They believe me. But they don’t know what to say that would be any help. And they’re right of course. What can they say? Words aren’t going to solve anything.

Maybe you feel the same — maybe that’s why you don’t say much about Steve in your letters.

Anyway, the last week has been terrible. The first few days were OK — we stayed out of each other’s path. At the weekend we had a fight over something so pathetic I’m embarrassed — no, I’ll tell you, because right from the start I’ve been determined to be honest with you. There were two cans of drink left in the fridge, one Diet Coke and one Sarsparilla. And, you guessed it, we both wanted the Diet Coke. Pathetic, hey? Well, I got the Coke, because Mum intervened, but it was one of those victories, what are they called? where you win but you wish you hadn’t. As Steve burned off to his room, kicking furniture and slamming doors, he muttered ‘You wait’ at me, which ruined my sleep for the rest of the weekend.

Sunday he kept trying to pick me all day, but with Mum and Dad around it was like the top was still on the bottle. Monday was the same, only worse — you’ve got no idea how bad he can be. If he wants something, it’s like ‘Come here slut,’ or, ‘Get me a sandwich, bitch.’ If I’m feeling brave, or stupid, I’ll say ’Get it yourself; if I’m feeling weak but smart, I do it.

Tuesday I went to
T.C. and Me,
with Maria Kagiasis, and a friend of hers, a girl called Sophie. It’s not a bad movie. Have you seen it? I don’t usually like Trent Smith but the part suits him. And I love Jean Rawicz — I’ve seen every movie she’s made.

Wednesday. Yes, well, Wednesday. We’ve got this computer game called ‘Rum Jungle’, OK? It was a Christmas present, and not a bad one. And although I’m not into computers much, I’ve been playing this one a bit and doing well (top score 12660). Well, Wednesday morning Steve decided he’d have a go. It took all of ten minutes for him to start steaming. When he got into swearing, hitting the computer and kicking it, I went over and stood behind him. Like an idiot I thought that if I gave him a clue or two, he mightn’t get so mad, and that way I could save the disc, the computer and me. And he might even get some satisfaction from posting a high score. OK, I know it was dumb, but that’s what I thought. See I made the mistake of treating him like a normal person for once.

It didn’t take long to work out what he was doing wrong. Or one thing he was doing wrong. So I said, ‘You have to get that green one, and that slows down the yellow ones.’ No reaction. A minute later the green thing appeared again, Steve deliberately ignored it, the yellow ones started accelerating, and five seconds later they wiped him out.

For that I got hit twice in the face and twice in the tits, a whole lot of computer stuff got hurled across the room, and Steve took all the discs so I couldn’t use the computer. Plus a threat: ‘Try lagging on me this time bitch, and I’ll get you at school again.’

That’s the trouble, see. Last year I lagged on him, and a few days later someone crapped in my bag, during recess at school. Now how do I prove it was him? I can’t, but I know it was, from things he said to me — little hints and sick jokes.

Yesterday and today were average — I got a dead-leg about an hour ago for disagreeing with him about a TV show.

What I can’t stand is the tension. Even if he’s been quiet for days it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t relax when he’s in the house.

When I write about him in these letters I go out and post them straight away. Ever since you asked about people reading my mail. It’d be terrible if he knew I was telling you about it.

So, that’s the story of my holidays. Not quite Porpoise Beach, but there it is. It’s funny though, no matter how bad your life is sometimes, you still wouldn’t swap it for anyone else’s. You might say you would, but you wouldn’t.

Trouble is, there’s two more holidays to go before Steve finishes Year 12. And even then he might live at home. I don’t know what he’s applying for, and I don’t think he’ll get much anyway. He hasn’t done any work since Easter, as far as I can tell.

Well, normal life resumes Monday, for better and for worse. At least it means you shouldn’t have pages of Steve any more. So, good luck for Term 2 — lots of love,

Mandy

May 8

Dear Mandy,

Well, like you I’m back at school. You sort of dread it in a way, but in another way it’s not so bad, having something to do again. Not that I’ve been bored, but it’s good seeing everyone.

Greg keeps ringing up, but he can’t come down this way for a while, so everything’s cool with Casey. He doesn’t know about Greg, and I plan to keep it that way.

As for your brother, I don’t know. He sounds like a jerk. Don’t you have a counsellor or something at your school? Those people who are meant to help when you’ve got a problem? I don’t know how good they are but.

I’d get a knife and wait till he’s asleep, then cut his balls off, tie a string round them and give them back to him for a yo-yo.

No, I didn’t think of that myself. Wish I had. A girl here said it.

I’m watching TV while I’m doing this, but not concentrating. It’s only the news. But listen to this: some English politician was on, and they were asking him about a car crash he was in. See, he survived this crash, but his chauffeur got killed. And he was smiling and laughing, and saying: ‘Yeah, I guess someone up there likes me.’ Now, you reckon you believe in God, so what I want to know is, did someone up there hate his chauffeur? I’m never going to cross the road again, if that’s the way it works.

Hey listen Mandy, do you ever show these letters to anyone? Like Cheryl and them? I’m curious.