The Pause (8 page)

I approach the house stealthily, like a ninja. I even reach for the imaginary sword that isn't sheathed on my back. One wrong move. One error of judgement. One twig crack and the game will be up and I'll be one hundred and forty dollars out of pocket. Why couldn't I have fallen in love with a girl who doesn't have The Kraken as a mother? But we don't choose who we fall in love with any more than we can choose our sexuality, our parents, our Gods, how long we'll live, and, I suppose, our friends. Stuff like that's beyond our control. You just have to go with it.

Maybe the fear of getting caught is part of the thrill. Maybe Lisa and I are star-crossed lovers,
without the ability to speak Italian. Well, I do. A bit.

If Juliet or Lisa had a mobile phone (or rather, had a mobile phone that she was actually allowed to use) then things might have turned out differently for both of them. But Juliet was prevented from owning a mobile phone because she lived in the Elizabethan age when technology basically sucked (well, that plus the added fact that she didn't actually exist). And Lisa? Well, Lisa lives in Forest Place where her mother basically sucks. So I travel back to the troglodyte days of Romeo and throw a small rock at Lisa's bedroom window. When nothing happens I try again. And again. When nothing continues to happen, I scoop up a handful of gravel and hurl it at the window. In times of yore, Juliet would have appeared backlit on the balcony and Romeo would have started banging on about the light being soft and it breaking from the window and Juliet being the sun and everything. The story would have undoubtedly lost some of its appeal had the Capulets' front porch light gone on and Juliet's mother appeared on the doorstep, her hair Medusa-ed up in rollers while she yelled, ‘Who's out there?'

The ruse up, I have no choice other than to step out from behind my tree.

‘Oh, hi, Mrs Leong,' I say so sheepishly that you could hack off one of my hind legs and serve it with mint sauce. ‘Is … er … is Lisa in?'

‘Why are you throwing rocks at the window?' she says, not unreasonably.

‘Because I, er …' There is absolutely no justifiable reason I can think of for throwing rocks at Lisa's window. In the end I opt for honesty. ‘Because Lisa isn't allowed to use her phone.' It's at this point I decide that we are going to buy her a new sim card.

‘I know Lisa is going out with you tonight,' says The Kraken, hands on hips. ‘She told me.'

‘Oh, right. Er …' Lisa had told me that she'd informed The Kraken that she was going to a Christian concert tonight, but I couldn't remember if she told her that she was going with me, or with her crusading friends, or both. That's the trouble with living a lie. You need a good memory.

I approach the front porch half-expecting The Kraken to pull a crucifix from her pocket and for me to burst into flames. ‘Sorry about that.' I gesture towards the window.

‘Lisa,' yells The Kraken. ‘Declan's here.'

Lisa emerges from the house as gorgeous as ever. She's wearing
my
look – jeans, black T-shirt and second-hand Vinnies jacket. Luckily I've opted for a white T-shirt tonight or we'd look a bit cheesy.

‘Ready?' I say.

‘Yep,' replies Lisa. She gives The Kraken a peck on the cheek and walks down the steps.

‘Goodnight, Mrs Leong,' I say.

We turn and head off down the path.

‘Declan,' calls The Kraken.

We both turn around.

‘I expect her home by eleven. Not one second later. You understand?'

‘Yes, Mrs Leong,' I say. No, Mrs Leong. Three bags full, Mrs Leong. What a total suck I've turned into.

‘One more thing,' says The Kraken. ‘The next time you throw rocks at Lisa's bedroom window so that she can sneak out to be with you, it's probably best if you throw them at
her
window, not mine.'

I acknowledge The Kraken's wisdom with a nod.

‘You were throwing rocks at the window?' says Lisa quietly. ‘May I ask why?'

‘I'll tell you on the train,' I say.

Following the twenty-minute walk to the station, we get ourselves comfortable on the train and disappear into the couple bubble, my first experience of this phenomenon, where no one else exists apart from the two of us.

Lisa snuggles into me. ‘You got the tickets?'

‘Yep.' I pull them out of my pocket and look at them. ‘Slight problem. The concert doesn't finish until eleven. Then we have to get a bus back to the station and a train home. Then there's the walk to your place. We'll have to leave early, I guess.'

Lisa looks up at me and smiles.

‘Screw her,' she says.

‘But she said you have to be back by eleven.'

‘She's a whack job,' says Lisa.

‘Your mum?'

‘Who else? I hadn't realised just how nuts she was until I met your mum.'

‘Yeah,' I agree, ‘but my mum's different. She gets it.'

‘She's what a mother should be, Declan. She loves you but she doesn't control you. She loves you unconditionally. Everything you do she doesn't take as a reflection on her. What you do isn't
about
her, it's about you and she's there to support you.'

No matter what Lisa says, I know that my mum
is
pretty special.

‘But your mum seemed quite nice just now. She even had a bit of a joke with me about the window. She was okay. Better than last time anyway.'

‘Depends which way the wind's blowing. Yes, she knows I'm going out with you tonight, but she also thinks we're going out with a big Crusaders
group. Everything I do with you is hidden by lies and deceit, and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of her. You know what she said to me when I told her that you were coming to the concert, too?'

I shake my head.

‘She said, “The Devil has you now.” What sort of a fruitcake of a mother would condemn her daughter to hell because she's going out with someone she disapproves of?'

‘She disapproves of me?'

She shrugs her shoulders, but not very convincingly.

I feel slightly deflated. ‘She doesn't even know me.'

‘Hey,' she says when she realises that I've been stung. ‘It's not a reflection on you, it's a reflection on her. She thinks she's so pious but she's just self-righteous. I wish she'd just drop dead.'

‘Lisa, you shouldn't say that about your mother. Even
your
mother.'

Lisa reaches over and kisses me on the cheek. ‘I've just told you that she talks smack about you and yet you protect her. You're wonderful, Declan. You're worth two hundred of her. You're more of a Christian than she is and you're an atheist.'

‘Agnostic,' I remind her. ‘I'm worried, though, Lisa.'

‘What about, babe?' I just
love
it when she calls me ‘babe'.

‘You haven't been to Crusaders for about two months. We're going to be late home tonight. If she hates me already, what about after tonight?'

‘She hates everyone.'

‘Still. I'm worried what she might do.'

‘Declan. She can't hurt me anymore.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I've built a shield around myself.' She taps her head. ‘She can't get in here.' Lisa nuzzles into me again, even closer this time. ‘Now stop worrying.'

Bombay Bicycle Club's music doesn't necessarily lend itself to moshing but boy does it go off. Free from her Rapunzel tower, Lisa really parties. She leads me round the mosh pit like a writhing wild thing. Despite the fact that my dad has all the rhythm of a plank, as far as movement is concerned, I appear to have absorbed my mother's Mediterranean blood so I am able to match Lisa's moves.

I'm still only seventeen, but I bump into a couple of year-twelve guys from school and they sort out drinks for me (imported Italian beer) and Lisa (pina colada) and I am soon intoxicated though not so much on the beer as on Lisa. If nuzzling into your girlfriend's neck during a slow song isn't the best feeling in the world then I don't know what is.

For one night we are truly allowed to be ourselves and it's perfect.

By the time we begin our walk back to the station it's already eleven o'clock. On the station I stare down the line and check my watch knowing that I've well and truly stuffed up.

‘Relax,' says Lisa when she sees that I'm worried. ‘I told you. She can't hurt me now.'

But it turned out that The Kraken could hurt Lisa. She could hurt both of us. And although on the train journey home we talk about going to uni together and then teaching English in China, or building wells and teaching in Africa, or motorcycling through Europe, in the back of my mind comes the horrible realisation that this isn't for keeps. That this is just one of our stolen moments.

My stuff's packed so while I wait for Mum to pick me up I head back out to the courtyard for some more sun. It's peaceful out here. A safe haven from the world. A world that is about to come and get me.

As I walk out I see a girl sitting in my spot. She looks about my age, maybe younger. She's wearing long red flannelette Mickey Mouse PJs and reading
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
. I open Sartre's
The Age of Reason
to show her that I'm intellectual and stuff, too.

She looks over at me and nods.

‘Hey,' she says. ‘I'm not in your spot, am I?'

Yes. ‘No.'

‘I'm new,' she says. ‘Got in last night. Not sure of the rules, other than you're not supposed to kill yourself.'

‘Yeah,' I agree. ‘They frown on that. It looks bad on their résumés if you do.'

She smiles at this and it's a stunning smile.

‘Everything okay?' I say, then realise that this is a seriously dumb question.

The girl laughs.

‘Sorry.'

‘It's fine,' she says. ‘And yeah, I'm doing okay. Better than yesterday, anyway.'

I want to know what happened yesterday but as I don't want to be pushed myself, I have to show her the same consideration. We return to our books but there's a bit of, I don't know, tension in the air. Things unsaid.

‘Are you allowed to smoke out here?' she says.

I shrug. ‘I haven't seen anyone. They don't really supervise us much. Not out here anyway. I suppose you could.'

‘It's just that there're butts on the ground and you can smell it. Makes me want to puke. God, smokers are pigs.'

‘Oh, I thought you wanted …'

She closes her book. ‘My uncle used to smoke. Could smell it on him. That and his cheap bourbon.' She drifts off, deep in thought.

I sense that her uncle did more than smoke and drink bourbon around her but I don't know if she wants to talk about it. I don't. About Aunt Mary, that is.

‘Why are you here?' she says. ‘You look normal.'

‘Don't we all?'

‘I suppose.'

‘My girlfriend …' I don't know how much I want to tell her. I don't really have the energy. ‘It's a long story.'

‘Did you get her pregnant?'

‘No,' I say. ‘Nothing like that. She got … she got taken overseas. Against her will.'

‘So you tried to suicide?'

‘Sort of.'

‘You'll get over her.'

‘Not sure I want to.'

‘That's what it seems like now. You just have to get through this bit.'

‘And you?'

She looks thoughtful for a moment. ‘My uncle, he …'

‘It's okay if you don't want to talk about it.' Actually,
I
don't want her to talk about it. I don't want to hear what her uncle did.

‘He killed my mum and then tried to, you know …'

I feel myself turning white at the thought of Aunt Mary.

‘What about your dad? Couldn't he …?'

‘Mum stuck a carving knife through Dad's neck, which is why my uncle killed her.'

She says this so matter-of-factly that I feel my blood turn to ice. It makes my own issues seem kind of lame.

‘Used to bash her. Couple of times a month. She's been in here before. Not this hospital but one like it. They should have kept her here, where she was safe.'

‘Did your uncle …?' I trail off. It's too big.

‘No. I got out. Lived on the streets for a while – or the trains. Slept in the rail yards mostly. Just stayed out of sight, in the shadows. Eventually I got sloppy and he found me.'

I look at her and gulp.

‘It's okay. He blew his brains out. Not that he had much to begin with.'

‘When was this?'

‘Yesterday. My teacher – actually she's more than my teacher, really – reckons I've seen too much. So here I am. Need to work it out, I guess, rather than bottle it up – or they reckon I might go postal in a few years.'

I stare at this girl, this beautiful girl, and shake my head. Sometimes the world is just so messed up you have to wonder if everyone's insane.

She looks over at me as I stare back at her.

‘Don't worry,' she says. ‘This is the happiest I've been in my whole life. He'll never hurt me again.'

Mum comes into the courtyard carrying my stuff.

‘Hey, Dec,' she says brightly. ‘Ready?'

‘Are they letting you out?' asks the girl.

‘Going to a different hospital,' I say.

‘Good luck,' she says. ‘You'll be fine.'

‘Yeah,' I reply, getting up. ‘You too. See you around.'

‘She's very pretty,' says Mum as we walk out of the hospital to the car.

‘She was homeless.'

‘Why?'

I realise that if I mention her uncle then Mum will probably start up about Aunt Mary again so I let it go.

‘Drugs,' I say, because it's easier.

We go via home so that I can pack some more of my stuff. It's weird but it doesn't feel like home anymore. It's as if they've all moved on without me. It kind of feels as though I don't belong here. There's a space. A hole in the air where I once was. The normal me, that is. I've only been gone for a few days but I'm homesick for the hospital.

Mum's made soup because apparently that's the law when someone's sick. Cold coming on – pea and ham. Viral pneumonia – vegetable.
Thwarted suicide bid – chicken and sweet corn. So Mum's made soup.

I sit at the breakfast bar and try to work up some enthusiasm for my liquid lunch but it's a struggle. Dad's at work and Kate's at school so it's just me and Mum.

I think about the girl. I think about how strong she's had to be. How she lived in the shadows. Maybe that's what I could do. Maybe I could live like that. Slink through life in the shadows so nothing can get to me again. But it won't work. Life will always come and get you in the end. And if it doesn't then you'll probably find yourself lying on a park bench in a disgusting overcoat, mainlining a goon cask every night, looking after a dog that no one wants, while the dog looks after a human no one wants. That's a life. Though it's not a life I want. So I have to live again. Slowly. I have to find my way back.