Peeling the Onion (11 page)

It all sounds incredibly artificial. But at least I can do it without my collar.

'Everybody's been asking how you're going,' Jenny says, her voice hardening as she adds, 'except Caroline. So I don't tell her—I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing
anything
about you!'

Mixed in with gardening and cooking books, Mum's got the ones Lynda left. Today she's reading
Stages of Grief, Death and Dying.

I'm not sure why it makes me so angry. 'I'm not dead, Mum! Not even dying!'

'Dying isn't the only thing to mourn!' she snaps. 'You can deal with things your way, but I'm finding this helpful!'

The mass was amazing, Jenny tells me. The most moving thing she's ever been to. The ornate church, the baritone of the chanting priest, smoking incense in swinging censers—she gets quite poetic in her efforts to make me feel it. 'At five to twelve all the lights went out, to symbolise the death—and at midnight the first candle was lit for the resurrection. It was so dramatic—the flame being passed from candle to candle until everyone in the church was holding a lighted candle and kissing everyone else and saying
"Christos anesti
—
Alithos anesti".'

'Sounds very fluent, Jen!'

'It's not hard if you just relax and don't worry about sounding stupid. Anyway . . . when we got back to their house Mrs Mavronas gave us all red-dyed hard boiled eggs—and I got the champion!'

'How do you have a champion
egg?'

'You smash them against each other and the one that cracks loses—mine squashed all the other eggs before it cracked.'

'You're crazy, Jen.' And not just about Costa; she's fallen in love with everything to do with him.

Term doesn't start till Wednesday, because of Anzac Day. I make it through English, psychology and maths. I'm glad it's a short week.

'It's Mark's eighteenth next Saturday; do you want to come?'

After three months of 'going out' we're actually going
outl
A real live date, like normal people have, not sitting around watching TV with little brothers and sisters.

'Some guys from our school have a band; it should be good.'

We've sparred together but never danced. I mightn't be much good on the fast dances, but slow will be okay, slow will be great—I really want to know how it feels, to be pressed against him with our arms around each other . . .

'Will you have to wear your collar?'

'I don't wear it for fun, you know! I
have
noticed that it's not the perfect fashion accessory!'

'I just asked!'

'Because you're ashamed to be seen with a freak!'

'No! Because—look, I don't need this! Forget it, would you?'

Rerun of our last slamming-door scene—screaming insults he can't hear, wondering whether I want to run after him or never see him again.

I phone Jenny.

'Why is he such a prick, Jen?'

A few months ago she would have said, 'Because he's a man,' but since Costa's appeared, she's become a lot more deep and meaningful. 'I think he's pretty screwed up. He probably feels so guilty about you having to wear the collar that he hates to see you in it.'

'But I'm the one that has to wear it! If I can deal with it, so should he!'

'It's just because he cares about you.'

'I don't know. I don't even know if he meant I should forget about the collar or going to the party. Maybe he means we should forget about us.'

'Just call him. Sort it out—everything will be okay, you'll see.'

Jenny in love, the eternal optimist. Thinks everyone should be as happy as she is.

'I'll talk to you later—I've really got to go now. Costa and I are doing maths.'

'Right. Just try and remember which figures you're supposed to be working on.'

'Spoilsport. Now do what I told you—phone Hayden and sort it out. Promise?'

'I guess so.'

A cup of coffee; a walk around the house. I feel sick; my hands are so sweaty they slip on the buttons. I don't know what I'll do if Hayden dumps me. Everything else in my life is going wrong; I need something stable.

If he doesn't answer himself I'll hang up. Maybe I'll hang up anyway. My voice comes out in such a silly squeak I have to start coughing as an excuse.

'Anna, I'm sorry.'

'I shouldn't have got so upset.'

'I just thought you'd have a better time if you didn't have to wear your collar.'

'Yeah. I'll see. I won't have to wear it forever, you know.'

'I know! Look, I've got to go. I've got a heap of homework. I'll pick you up Saturday, about eight.'

I've worn my collar all day; I had my rest after lunch and I'm resting again after dinner. I'm going to look like a normal person when I go to this party.

Mum comes into my room. 'I know you're nearly eighteen, but—'

(Why is there always a but?)

'—don't forget that anything you drink will be enhanced by your painkillers. And with your balance ...'

'People will think I'm drunk! Do you think that's the worst thing I've got to worry about?'

'I think falling over and hurting yourself is something to worry about! As well as any girl's . . . the usual problems of losing self-control when you've had too much to drink.'

'Falling into the back seat of Hayden's car in a fit of drunken passion?'

'If you want to put it like that.'

'I don't think you've got anything to worry about. I'll let you know if I get luckier.'

'Very funny. It's just—I know you're sensible, but with all this—I can't help worrying about you.'

'I've noticed.'

Good start to an evening. A patched-up truce with my boyfriend; a nearly-fight with my mother. It's got to improve.

But not by Dad talking to Hayden. 'You're driving?'

'Dad!'

'You can't blame him, Anna.'

Just watch me.

'I'm not trying to be difficult,' Dad goes on, winding himself up to be as difficult as possible, 'but I can remember what it was like to be young—and if it were my best friend's eighteenth, I might have trouble not having a drink. All I'm asking is that if you do, Anna comes home in a taxi.'

'I'll take care of her.'

I don't believe this. What am I, some Jane Austen heroine to be handed over from father to prospective husband? 'Would someone around here give me a little credit for taking care of myself?'

'Of course we do,' chorus the three liars.

I calm down when I'm in the car. No collar, no stick, a boyfriend and a party—tonight I'm nothing but Anna, a normal seventeen-year-old, and I'm going to have normal seventeen-year-old fun. Hayden even decides against explaining why my parents worry about me and starts to relax. He and Mark have been working all day, cleaning out the garage. 'It looks really good,' he says modestly, 'and the band's unbelievable. It's going to be a great night.'

A few people are there already; I give Mark a birthday kiss and present; he tells me I look fantastic and a look that says he means it. I start to believe Hayden: it's going to be a great night. Someone I don't know is coming up to Mark now; Hayden's organising drinks, but Jess from karate has just arrived and I'm really glad to see her, it's been ages. I have to sit down. I find a chair as she comes over.

'I wondered if you'd be here! So are all you better now?'

'Nearly.'

'I heard you were giving up karate.'

'News to me!'

'So why did Hayden quit? I'd heard it was because of you.'

'You heard wrong. I'll be back in a couple of months; Hayden's a big boy—he can make up his own mind.'

'Hey—did you
really
break your neck?'

'Really,'
I mimic.

'Jeez—you sure were lucky!'

She's bored now; looking around for someone more interesting to talk to. I shouldn't have been such a bitch—I'm not ready to stand up yet. I'll look like an idiot sitting here on my own.

'Have you been to any tournaments lately?' I ask desperately. 'You were doing really well with kata, last time I saw you.'

'Yeah . . . Oh look, there's Dave! Catch you later!'

Hayden runs out from behind the bar to bring me a lemon squash. 'Having a good time?'

'I'd rather have a beer. Are you going to be bartender all night?'
(God! I sound so peevish! Try again.)
'You did a great job on the shed.'

'Thanks. Pasquali's taking over the bar at nine. Here's the band! I was beginning to think they'd got lost.' He rushes over to them and starts lugging black boxes down to the end of the shed.

Legs are working again; there's Jodie; Jodie and Paul, we went to primary school together; go over and see them.

'Anna! Haven't seen you for ages; what've you been up to?'

'Nothing much.' (They don't know! I thought the whole world knew about Anna Duncan's accident. I feel so free!)

'What about you?'

Jodie grins, swinging Paul's hand. 'That'd be telling.'

'I'll get us a drink,' Paul says. 'You want one, Anna?'

'I'd love a beer.' I'm going to have to sit down again before I fall; try and look casual, 'Might as well have a seat, it'll be a while before the band's ready.'

Jodie's wearing white jeans; she glances at the concrete floor. 'No thanks.' Her eyes are already flicking around the room to see who else she knows. Paul arrives with three beers. The band plugs in the amplifier; an electronic screech spears through my head as I reach for my glass and I tip over like a wobbly-doll, pouring beer all over my shirt.

Jodie giggles. 'How much did you have before we got here?'

They wander off. So do I, once my balance trickles back—outside, behind the shed, where I can hide and wring out my sleeve. I'm leaning against the wall crying when Hayden finds me. He puts his arms around me. 'You okay?'

Better now that I'm with him. I press myself against his chest.

'Shit, you're soaked! What happened?'

'It's okay; I just spilled something.'

'We'll see if you can borrow a jumper from Mark's mum.'

I can't argue; I'm too cold and too miserable to even try, and he's dragged me over to the house already. If it wasn't his best friend's party I'd just go home. Mrs Ryan is nice; she doesn't act as if I'm drunk; gives me a red jumper which wouldn't be bad at all if you didn't know that it belonged to your host's mother. I still feel like an idiot. I wish I could stay in this bedroom all night.

'Coming, Anna?' Hayden calls. 'The band's starting. You'll love them.'

'Can you get them to turn it down a bit?' Mark's mum asks. 'It'll be a bit embarrassing if the neighbours ring the police about the noise.'

Hayden tries, but apparently the amplifier doesn't go any lower. The noise rocks the shed; everyone's dancing. Hayden and I shuffle around, not so much dancing as holding. My face is against his chest; he runs his hands down my back till I could melt against him . . . I feel dizzy with love.

The song stops. We stay together. The next number starts; fast; it turns into a drum solo. The drum vibrates through me, through my body, through my ears and my brain. It fills my head with blackness and knocks me to the ground.

not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair

C
HAPTER
9

M
other's Day. I give Mum
Cakes For Every Day of the Year.
'Three hundred and sixty-five of them,' I explain. 'You'll be able to celebrate whatever you want.'

'What's the worst?' asks Jenny.

The pain in my neck. No; the foot's sharper. The ringing in my ears; the dizziness. The shaking, the spilling drinks, slobbering food. The not being able to do anything . . . Hayden not kissing me . . . The way it all doesn't stop.
Why doesn't it stop?

'Everything. I'm pissed off, Jen. I've had it.'

For English this week Martin's set me two chapters to study and a poem to write. 'Try writing a poem that expresses how you feel about yourself,' he says. 'Show us the real you.'

The real me?
Fifteen weeks ago I might have known who she was—now I'm a mask and don't know whether I'm more scared of looking under it or letting other people know I'm afraid.

But he wants a poem and he wants it deep and meaningful.

Peeling like an onion,

I am shedding filmy layers

the firm white flesh revealing

what's hidden deep inside.

Opening like a babushka

I am sorting wooden dolls

the last hollow doll is holding

the baby deep inside.

Unwrapping like a present

I am crumpling pretty papers

under the crepe and ribbons

there's a perfect gift inside.

Which is a lie from one end to the other but might keep Martin happy.

'You know the stuff we're doing on motivation in psych,' Jenny begins—but I'm still on stress, and it's bull.

She ignores that. 'It's really got me in . . . you can apply it to people you know and things start to make sense.'

'Like your friend going crazy because she broke her neck?'

'Idiot! You're not crazy. I was thinking about Caroline—I had to try and get my head around how she could dump you like that . . . and why I hate her so badly now. I know she was mean to you and broke up our friendship—but I really
hate
her. Worse than you do.'

God, I'm a selfish bitch. It's never struck me before that Jenny lost a friend too.
'And?'

'I figure I feel a bit guilty.'

'How could you feel guilty? I couldn't have made it through all this if you hadn't stuck around!'

'You would have—but thanks. Anyway, I was reading this thing about survivor guilt and it was so cool! It just exactly described the way I feel.'

'If you were a real friend you'd have broken your neck too?'

'Something like that.'

'Bad idea. So you figure Caroline's so competitive she'd have to go one step better and actually kill herself to still be my friend?'

Jenny laughs. 'I hadn't thought of that one. But I still think it's something to do with being competitive—you know how good she was to you in hospital?'