One True Thing (21 page)

I head into my room to wait up. Gran made me promise not to go to bed without sorting it out with Mum. I choose my ‘Chilling' playlist and let the mellow tones of Lily Allen, Amanda Palmer and the
Into the Wild
soundtrack soothe me while I wait.

When Mum comes home, I hear them all come with her – Sarah arguing with Harry about how meaningless the word ‘values' has become; Christie agreeing with one, then the other, trying to keep the peace; Mum telling them it's too late to change tack now. The whole team plays their roles as though they were born for them; the familiarity of it like home-cooked stew or a summer holiday, safe and reassuring. The normal I know.

A little later Mum knocks, then pokes her head around the door. I'm all set to apologise, ready to say I've been an idiot, but the hurt rises up, the desire to lay blame at her feet. At her job.
At bloody politics.
I barely open my mouth before she shushes me and shakes her head.

‘I did this,' she says. ‘Not you.'

And just like that, I can't do it. Deep down I know it isn't
all
about her politics. A lot of it was me.
Is
me. My choices. My mistakes. Just … life. So I close my mouth and offer a small smile. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘I know,' Mum says. ‘I'm sorry too.' She studies her feet, then looks up. ‘We all make mistakes. I should have told the truth a long time ago – to you and to Luke.' She leans against the wall and folds her arms in front of her. ‘I'm trying to make it right –
really
trying – but I can't pay forever. No one should.'

I think about the trouble Jake's photos have caused. How much it ached to discover he'd taken them. How it must have hurt learning his dad had stolen them from him, betraying Jake like I thought Jake had betrayed me.

We all make mistakes.

I don't remember rising from my bed or crossing the room. I don't remember a decision being made. I'm just aware that my mum is holding me, and it feels good. ‘Is it going to be okay?'

She pulls away and offers me that slow, heavy smile – the one she hides from the cameras. ‘What are you asking? About us? You and me?' She frowns and her lips quiver just so when she speaks. ‘We'll always be okay.' She holds my face and looks at me. ‘You know that, don't you? We'll always be okay.' She shrugs, a little helpless, like there's nothing she can do about it. Nothing I can do about it. ‘I love you. I'll
always
love you.'

‘What about the election?'

She looks to the ceiling in the way Gran does. ‘I have no idea.'

‘That must be driving Harry crazy,' I say, laughing.

‘Bless him. It is.'

‘So … is that it?' I ask. ‘It's over?'

Pain like a bruise around her eyes. The tired lift of her smile.

I take her face in my hands, just as she's done to me, and say simply, ‘Don't give up.'

Rowena Mulvaney – my mum, Dad's wife and the Premier of Victoria – laughs dryly. ‘Give up?' she asks, looking me square in the eyes.
‘Never.'

Before I'm even fully awake, my phone is buzzing with messages I can no longer ignore. Mr Campaspe has organised an emergency rehearsal to try to make up for the lost days at the beach. The date has been finalised, a new venue found, and we only have a week to get it right. It feels like ages since we've had the band together, and I have no idea how much damage has been done by our neglect. At least we've settled on our set.

Mr Campaspe looks relieved to see me, and I wonder how many sleepless nights he's had too, worrying that all the work he's done to land us an audition might end up a total waste because some kid in the band he's chosen to help happens to be the Premier's daughter. Talk about
ripples in the pond. Or what do they call that? The domino effect?

I feel guilty just thinking about it. But he only asks how I am and waits for me to answer, not like he's testing me, but like he cares.

‘I'm fine,' I say. ‘I'm good.'

‘Excellent,' he says, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze when I head into the studio.

Tyler is behind the drums, adjusting the foot pedal. Van has headphones on as he runs through some chords, eyes closed, in that place the music takes him. The one place that always finds room for me too. I realise how much I've missed all this.

Kessie looks up. ‘About time.'

‘Okay, everyone!' Mr Campaspe says, and we all turn to him. ‘We're running out of time and we need to get this happening. Everyone on the same page?'

My heartbeat increases, dreading the inevitable onslaught that awaits if any of my bandmates even attempts to explain all the crap that's gone wrong. But Van shakes his head and Kessie says, ‘We're good.' Tyler doesn't respond, but she and I take our positions like any ordinary rehearsal.

And then it
is
a normal rehearsal, where everyone has their job and we all know what we have to do. Not surprisingly, it takes a couple of false starts before we hit our stride, but we get through the third version of
‘Bad Grammar' before I realise that Kessie and Tyler have barely looked at each other. Or, more accurately, Kessie is constantly trying to make eye contact with Tyler while Tyler seems to be looking everywhere but at Kessie.

Kessie stumbles on the second verse, then misses the cue for the third verse. Then stops singing completely.

We all stand there and wait.

She turns to the back of the stage. ‘Talk to me,' she says to Tyler, as though they're midway through a conversation.

Tyler turns away. ‘Not now, Kessie.'

Kessie doesn't move. It's like she's frozen to the spot, oblivious to everyone except Tyler.

‘What's going on?' I whisper to Van.

He rolls his eyes, then plays the first chords of ‘Trouble in Paradise'.

‘When then?' Kessie's voice is small and fractured.

Tyler shakes her head.

Mr Campaspe steps into the studio, sizes up the situation. ‘Five-minute break, guys.'

Kessie heads straight for Tyler. I watch them speak quietly, hurriedly, then force myself to look away. I take a long slug of my drink bottle, line up beside Van as we fiddle with our guitars. He plucks a few strings – the last couple of bars from ‘Bad Grammar' – and twists his mouth into a question, asking if he sounds okay.

‘Harder on the D.'

He repositions his fingers, then does what I suggested.
It sounds good. He winks at me and smiles. That is the most effusive Van is ever likely to be, and it's all because we changed how he played a chord, which makes total sense to me.

‘All right now?' Mr Campaspe's voice cuts through the quiet.

Kessie is still beside Tyler, her whole body turned towards her. Nothing else matters. But Tyler is a block of stone. She sits stiffly, clinging to her drumsticks, avoiding Kessie's urgent pleas.

The moment is so shockingly un-Kessie-like that I rethink the possibility of mind control or alien invasion. ‘Kessie?' I call, more sharply than I mean to. ‘Break's over,' I add, mostly because I don't know what to say to this stranger in my best friend's body.

She turns slowly, studying me for a long minute, tears shimmering in her eyes, her anger unmistakeable. And while it's unsettling, at least it's recognisably Kessie. Gradually, she breaks the moment and steps up to her microphone.

We launch into the start of the new song, working through it like we've been playing it for ages, giving me all kinds of much-needed confidence, despite the general weirdness of moments before. There's a small change in the mid-point that Mr Campaspe suggests we work on this week.

We move on to ‘Love Song', Tyler counting us in.

The intro builds. Kessie stands at the microphone, closes her eyes and opens her mouth but nothing comes out.

I wave for them to stop. ‘From the top,' I say.

Tyler counts us in but, again, Kessie misses her cue.

‘Once more, guys!' Mr Campaspe says, looking less than impressed.

The drums open, and Kessie visibly shakes it off as if she's resetting herself. Van and I do our bit, Tyler's drums pounding in my chest, filling my head so that we're two bars late before I realise Kessie isn't singing. Again.

We each stop playing in jagged steps. Me first, Van next, and then, finally, Tyler, her focus still turned away from Kessie.

‘Are you okay, Kess?' I ask.

She ignores me, pushing the microphone aside, and crosses the stage, eyes only for Tyler. Tyler looks trapped, but then she visibly steels herself and waits.

‘Don't do it, Ty,' Kessie rasps, standing before her.
‘Please.'

Van and I hold our breath.

Tyler blinks. There's the briefest hesitation, then she adjusts her position, her resolve seeming to rise in that gesture, and with a steady hand, she pushes past Kessie and heads straight for the door.

‘Tyler?' Mr Campaspe asks as she passes him. ‘Where are you going?'

‘I'm sorry, Mr C,' she says evenly, her voice a steel I've never heard. ‘You need to find yourself a new drummer.'
Then she sticks her drumsticks into her pocket and walks out.

We all stare after her in shocked silence.

‘What the fuck was that?' Van says, shocking us all. I recover first.

‘Kessie?' I touch her arm. ‘She'll be back.'

Kessie's face is ashen when she looks at me, but instead of the grief I heard in her voice, I see anger. ‘You did this,' she says.

My hand falls away. ‘What? I thought we were good.'

She snorts. ‘Like you give a shit.'

‘I do!'

Kessie has a broken half-smile on her face. ‘She dumped me. You understand? Said it wasn't going to work.'

Mr Campaspe clears his throat. ‘Do you guys need a minute?'

Kessie ignores him. ‘She said if
you
didn't get it, no one would.'

Why did I send that stupid emoji? I should have done more. I could have done more.

She straightens, trying to gather her ragged breath, all kinds of emotions doing battle across her face. ‘I have always been there for you, Frankie. Always.'

A stab of something nameless robs me of air. I squeeze her hand, try to close the gap between us, but she yanks it away.

‘I'm sorry,' I say. ‘I'm really sorry.'

‘Too. Fucking. Late,' she snaps, and walks out.

Gran stops in the foyer of Colin's hotel, uncertainty clouding her features. ‘We don't want to bombard him,' she says, and finds a seat in the lounge area by reception.

I look at Luke.

‘I'm going with you,' he says simply.

I glance at my phone for any messages I might have missed from Kessie or Tyler, still reeling from rehearsal, but there's nothing. A big fat zero.

Nothing I can do about that right now. I have to refocus, to make at least this part right. ‘Okay,' I say to Luke.

We take the stairs to Colin's room. When he opens the door, there's a flicker of shock as he takes in Luke beside
me, but then the flat, unyielding expression returns. Impossible to read.

‘I'm leaving,' he says before I can speak.

‘Um. This is … Luke,' I say.

Luke holds out his hand to him. Colin blinks, then reaches across and shakes his hand firmly.

‘When are you leaving?' I ask.

He opens the door wider and I can see a backpack open on the bed. A tangle of clothes sorted in rough piles, some in the backpack, some next to it. A clutter of toiletries and other things form another mess in the middle. All of which I take to mean
soon
.

‘Can we come in?' I ask.

‘I don't see why.' He steps back, leaving the door open.

Luke immediately follows, and as it's as close to an invitation as we're likely to get, I go inside too. Colin moves some clothes from the pile on his bed and tucks them into a gap in his backpack.

‘I was really hoping we'd have more time,' I say quietly.

With effort, he faces us. He's wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, faded jeans and socks. I can just make out the tail end of the smiling moons peeking out from under his sleeve. Without being asked, Luke plonks himself on the bed and stares expectantly at Colin.

Colin frowns at him but doesn't object.

‘You look like her,' my brother says matter-of-factly.

Something happens to Colin's face then. It contorts, just briefly, then there's that same impassive cold. ‘Nothing I can do about that.'

Luke shakes his head. ‘No, that's good – she's pretty.'

‘Not pretty,' I say, because I can't imagine anyone calling Colin Leith pretty, or him wanting anyone to. ‘Handsome.'

Luke frowns at me. ‘Not Mum. You.'

So now we're all blushing, even Luke, because he's just realised he's given his sister a compliment.

Colin laughs, short and sharp. ‘You're odd.'

Luke nods. ‘I know.' He tilts his head. ‘Do you swim?'

Colin shoots me a quick accusatory look, and I realise our beach swim was meant to be a secret. The fact is, I haven't told anyone. Not about that.

‘Luke, that's not polite.'

‘What? To ask if he likes swimming?'

‘No. I mean, just asking questions like that.'

‘But how else will I find out the answers?'

Colin laughs again. ‘Yeah, I swim. Not very well, though.'

Luke smiles. ‘I could teach you. I'm really good.'

Colin's expression is softening with every new Luke-shaped embarrassment, and so I decide to just let him go for it. Luke being Luke is pretty irresistible. ‘Are you?' he asks my little brother.

Luke bristles with pride. ‘Yep. I'm swimming in the
State Trials this Saturday – at the university pool. You should come.'

Colin shoots me an ‘Is he for real?' look.

I smile. ‘Yeah. You should.'

Colin shakes his head, but before he can say no, Luke says, ‘Mum and Dad will be there.'

Colin flinches. ‘Yeah. No.'

‘But you have to say goodbye to Mum,' Luke says, frowning.

Colin's mouth twists into a humourless smile. ‘I don't owe
your
mum anything.'

‘
Our
mum,' Luke replies.

The words clatter loudly as they fall. Colin looks like he's just been slapped.

‘I'm really sorry,' I say. ‘Luke –'

‘But she is!' Luke is almost in tears.

‘We'd better go,' I say to Colin. I feel so completely out of my depth. Why did I think I could fix this enormous thing when it's older and bigger and just
more
than I could ever be?

I turn Luke around by the shoulders, but he stops as I open the door. ‘What about Gran?' he asks.

‘No,' I say. ‘Just stop, Luke.'

Colin moves past us so fast, I step back, helpless, as he slams the door before we can leave. His hand grips the doorknob and he has one arm pressed against the jamb, blocking our exit. Luke looks genuinely frightened but,
somehow, despite the aggression in Colin's expression, I'm not afraid.

‘It's okay, Luke,' I say.

‘I don't want you coming back,' Colin says through gritted teeth. ‘Do you understand? You've had a look. Here I am. The long-lost unwanted bastard brother. But now I'm going home and you're going home. You and your brother and your gran –
and your goddamned mum
– are going to leave me the feck alone. Got it?'

I blink. Tears sting my eyes. I nod.

Colin is breathing heavily as he steps back and lets us pass, but before I can stop him, Luke has launched himself at Colin, clutching him in a vice-like hug that seems to knock the very wind out of them both.

Colin holds his arms wide, like he's afraid to touch Luke. Time stands still. No one moves. Then Luke lets go and angrily runs out the door.

I look back at Colin as I leave. He's standing perfectly still, staring at the space where Luke had been, his arms spread wide in shock.

That's the last thing I see when I shut the door. That, and a brief glimpse of the tiny smiling moons peeking out from Colin's sleeve.

When we enter the foyer, Gran is sitting in the same lounge chair, perched forward as though preparing to escape. She looks surprised when Luke and I appear. We've been gone barely fifteen minutes.

We stand before her, not really sure how to explain what has just happened. But Gran works it out fast enough. Luke's face is flushed and pale all at once, and his eyes are damp with unshed tears. ‘He's going back to Ireland,' he blurts, in the split second before his tears begin to fall.

Gran considers us both, glancing at the staircase as though she has a mind to go after him.

I put a hand on her arm. ‘Let it go, Gran,' I say. I can't face another fight. I don't have it in me.