The Whole of My World (15 page)

Disappointed, I shove the mirror back in place and return to my book. I read the inscription for the thousandth time, still able to extract from it the small thrill it gave me that very first time.

To my darling Shelley,

May this story of strength, love and hope inspire

you like it did me when I was a girl.

Always, your loving Mum.

She put two kisses and two hugs after her name and, underneath, in that perfect script, the date: 11 June, 1979. My tenth birthday.

I think long and hard about turning the page, taking a minute to consider the idea of the next page and whether I'm ready to see it. Breathing slowly, I take the thin paper between my fingers. One. Two. Three . . .

A harsh knock at the door startles me and I stop. I think I'm relieved. I look at the time: 1.45. It'll be Josh wanting to leave. ‘Come in,' I croak.

Dad is standing there, his jaw set firm and hard.

I slam the book shut and push it under my doona, burying the evidence of my weakness. But not before Dad sees it. A flicker of something unidentifiable flashes in his eyes, and then it's gone. ‘Josh is waiting.'

I lift my chin, preparing for battle. ‘Tell him to go without me.'

‘Go with your friend to the game.'

I shake my head, take a deep breath and force my gaze to meet his. Defiant.

‘Now.' His eyes are two shiny stones.

I shake my head again. ‘I'm not going,' I manage through gritted teeth. ‘I'll tell Josh.' I get up, the strength returning to my legs with a rush, and push past Dad on my way to find Josh.

I feel his hand before I realise what's happening. He grabs my arm and pulls me towards him. ‘You
are
going, and you're going now.' Anger is cut deep into the lines on his face. The heat of his fury radiates across the small space between us. ‘Someone has to represent the family. You've made a promise –
I've
made a promise . . . Do the right thing for us all.'

‘The family!
What
family?' My heart is in my throat. Blood pounds in my head – outrage and fury and that overwhelming feeling of loss. ‘We haven't been a family since –'

‘Stop!' he yells, a kind of terror in his eyes. I haven't seen that look for two years, and it shook me then too. My chest heaves. My face burns. Panic rises in my chest. I twist out of his grip and push him away. ‘You can't stop me!' I yell as he reaches for me again. This time his grip is so fierce that I can feel a bruise forming. ‘If Mum was here, she'd understand!' I'm screaming now. I'm not even making sense, but I don't care. I haven't let loose like this since the funeral, since those first days – the beginning of the end. Not since Dad told me we were drawing a line. ‘And Angus.'

Dad flinches.

‘You act like they don't exist and you made me act like it too! You did this to us!
You
did!' I shout in his face, even as I know that I did it too. ‘You.'

Dad's hand shoots out so fast I don't even see it, but some deep-seated instinct drives my hands to cover my face.

‘No!'

I hear a smash, and tear my hands away to see my photo frame in pieces on the ground. Dad is clutching his hand, in obvious pain. We both stare at the broken glass – now in two pieces, almost perfect halves. One for each of the ones we've lost.

I fall back, away.

We stare at each other in horror at what he's done – and at what I've said. What we've become. Neither of us able to speak. There are no words, anyway, that can fill the void between us. I don't hear Josh enter the room.

‘Shelley?' Josh asks, confusion and shock lining his features. ‘Mr Brown?' He faces my father, but Dad can't take his eyes off the photo on the floor.

Dad slowly lifts his head to look at me. ‘I would never hit you,' he says, but I'm not sure even he believes it. I stare at the photo again and barely hear him mumble an apology as he leaves.

Josh is beside me now, his hand on my hand, his warm eyes searching mine for an explanation. I can't speak, or move. All I know is Dad has left my room, left
me
, and I've never felt more completely alone in my life.

‘You okay?'

I shake my head, no. Then nod, yes. Because I am and I'm not. I reach down to pick up the photo frame, careful not to cut myself on the broken glass. One shard is on the carpet beside the photo; the other still lodged in the frame, cutting a clean line through Mum's shoulder and . . .

‘I miss them too,' Josh whispers.

. . .
Angus
. I finish the thought the same way it started – silently, letting the shape of his name sit there, taking a long minute to feel its edges, see its size.

Angus.

I realise then that I don't want Josh to say his name out loud. I can't face the sound of it from his lips. Not when I have refused to say it myself all this time. I want Josh to leave. I shake my head. ‘No, please don't.'

And he stops. Of course he stops. He hates it just as much as I do. Josh steps forward to help me stand.

I push him away. ‘I'm fine,' I tell him, touching my arm where my dad held me, feeling the heat from his grip. ‘You'd better hurry, or you'll be late for your game.'

Josh hesitates, his eyes scanning my face.

‘I'm okay. Really.'

‘Come with me,' he says finally, still hovering over me like I might fall over.

‘I can't. Not today.' I straighten to face him, eye to eye.

He nods but doesn't leave.

I twist my lips into something near to a smile. ‘You can't let the Raiders down, Josh. They need you. I'll come to your hundred-and-fiftieth. There's no way I'd miss it.'

‘Promise?'

I nod. ‘Promise.'

Josh turns to leave, but stops at the door. ‘I know it's not true,' he says, his hand twisting around the door knob. ‘Your dad does too, you know.'

I laugh hollowly.

‘But, Shell . . .?'

‘What?' I ask guardedly. I don't want to hear. I don't want to know.

He takes a deep breath, like it's the hardest thing he's had to say, and frowns. ‘I mean . . . what do you
think
it looks like?' he asks finally.

‘To who?' I say flatly.

‘To everyone? To your dad? The players?' His voice drops to barely above a whisper. ‘To Edwards.'

I shake my head, exhausted. ‘We're just friends.'

There's a long pause before Josh speaks again. ‘Yeah. That's what you said.' And then he walks out, closing the door behind him. But the words hang in the room long after he leaves.

Pain spreads through my whole body. I can no longer fight the tears I've tried to hide these past two years. I don't even want to. So I let them run open and free down my face, the relief barely registering on my dull and damaged heart.

After a while, when the tears have dried and my legs are numb from standing still for so long, I retrieve
My Brilliant Career
from under the doona, set its heavy shape on my lap and slowly, deliberately, turn the pages. Through the first, the second, pausing briefly before I flip the third.

My fingers shake. I shut my eyes, open them, then shut them again. My hand is steadier now. I take the thin paper between my fingers and slowly open my eyes as I turn the page – and see it all. On the page, and in my head, travelling to that place and that time, even though my heart rages against it. Between the pages of this story is a photograph taken
that
day. That horrible day, only hours before everything went so terribly wrong. The photo should be an ordinary family snap – a happy, joyous birthday celebration. Nothing special or unusual, except for the time it was taken and what happened next. Extraordinary and unusual
after
the fact. I look at my family, all the pieces still intact, my world still whole, and remember the power of being a part of something else. The whole of my world stares back at me with the kind of abandon that Dad and I will never know again. I count them, one by one: My father. My mother. Me.

And Angus. My twin brother.

 

 

I've gotten used to the tension. The last few days have been made up almost entirely of broken conversations about lunchboxes, dirty laundry and bus schedules. At home, I've spent every chance I can in my bedroom, working on my Mighty Falcons scrapbook. But the details and the facts just don't have the urgency they once had. And with Mossy done for the year, there's a big gap where there's been nothing to add. But I keep working on it, hoping the shine will come back, hoping Mick's stats will help him do what he needs to do. In the meantime, Dad's been taking longer walks, sometimes disappearing after dark, which is a whole new weirdness, even for him. I don't ask him where he goes, and in turn, he doesn't ask me.

Josh hasn't called. But that's no surprise, given how he feels about Mick and Fernlee Park.

I've been hanging around training every day after school – even on Mondays, when the only people there are players who need to see the physio or who work at the club during the day. I'm not supposed to go there anymore but Dad relented on the matches. Maybe the idea of silent weekends is too much for him. Anyway, I gave it a couple of days before telling him I'm training for the athletics team after school. I pack my runners and P.E. uniform, sometimes going for a run before training starts just to cover my tracks, and so far he's swallowed it whole. Sometimes I really do go to the morning athletics training sessions so it doesn't feel like a total lie.

I should be relieved that he believes me, except I'm not. It's too easy. I'm not even trying.
He's
not even trying.

And that breaks my heart.

I've barely seen Mick these past two weeks. He's always rushing to the physio or disappearing into team meetings. I tell myself I don't mind, he needs to get his knee right. That's all that matters. So I'm surprised when he calls me into the gym before training today. No one else is around, which is odd for a Thursday. But it feels so good to have him talk to me again that for a minute I worry that I won't have anything to say.

‘Don't you ever have homework?' Mick asks me as he drop kicks the ball straight at me.

I mark it cleanly and line up to return it. ‘I do it before I get here.' I send a pearler down the guts of the gym, the perfect spiral. I don't tell him that I wagged the last two periods of school today. I haven't finished my History essay on the Falcons and didn't want to get in trouble for not handing it in.

‘You've been practising,' he says. I blush furiously. I have been practising and I know I've improved, but I wasn't expecting him to notice.

‘Handball it back,' I say to change the subject, ‘or you'll hurt your other knee.' His left knee is still taped up but it's got good movement now and there's talk he'll be back next week. Just in time for the finals.

‘You sound like my wife,' he laughs.

Silence settles and it doesn't feel natural or right. We just stare at each other like there's nowhere to escape. ‘Well, she's right,' I blurt, hating how stupid I sound.

He handballs it back and it feels like she's here, standing between us.

I can't breathe. ‘I'd better go,' I say, sending a wonky pass towards him, and head out of the gym before he can stop me.

 

For the first time since I started coming to Fernlee Park, I miss the start of training. I lose myself inside Coles for a while, then run into Tara in the car park, just as I'm debating whether to go home. I don't want to. But I'm not sure I can face Mick either.

‘Red said you were at the club before.'

‘Yeah. I had to pick up some stuff at Coles,' I lie.

Tara looks at me weirdly, but doesn't argue.

‘You hungry?' I ask quickly. I really could do with some food.

Tara shrugs, and we head over to Greasy Joe's. Tara is taking ages to decide what she wants so I tell her I'll wait outside. As soon as the door shuts behind me, the Lovely Ladies show up. They must have gone home to change out of their school uniforms because each one looks like she's spent hours fluffing her hair and painting on make-up.

‘Hey.' I smile at them, hoping this will be the extent of our conversation. Ever since the social club I've been feeling more awkward than usual when they talk to me. They hardly looked at me before, but now their eyes seem to eat me up, measuring me in ways I don't fully understand, then dismissing me before I can work out what they were looking for in the first place. I know the only reason they talk to me is because Mick and I are friends. I also know they don't like Tara. But how either of these facts shapes what they think of me is a mystery. ‘You going to the social club?' I ask, filling the awkward silence.

‘Hasn't opened yet,' Kimberly replies. ‘Wait here for a bit?' she says to the others, who nod.

I rack my brain for something to say.

‘Big night at the club after the North Yarra game,' Renee says, smirking.

‘Yeah. It was fun,' I lie.

‘Went on all night,' she adds.

‘Good party, hey?' I ask, not sure I want to know. Red told me that after we left all three girls went to a party with some of the younger players. I think about what might happen at that party and about what Red said at the social club. I know Tara and Red think these girls sleep around. But how could they know,
really
? I mean, maybe the Lovely Ladies don't do that at all. Or maybe Kimberly does, and Renee, but not Lisa. She's smart and friendly – she wouldn't want anyone talking about her like that.

‘Huge,' says Renee, looking to her friends for agreement.

But Lisa just shrugs. ‘It was okay.'

Renee shakes her head. ‘That's not what you said about Blackie the next day.'

‘I didn't say anything,' Lisa says quietly.

I don't want to look at Lisa, but my silence is too obvious. I force a smile and focus on Renee and Kimberly.

‘Jonesy was more than okay,' says Renee, elbowing Kimberly and laughing, trying to get a better response from her. But Kimberly doesn't answer; she just watches me, the hint of a smile on her lips.

I want to know what happened. Or I think I do. I know what it sounds like, what Renee wants me to think. But is that the truth? And if it is, why would they want everyone to know? People say things that aren't true all the time, so maybe that's what this is. We live lies, keep secrets, hide the truth. I'm living proof of that.

‘Eddie's wife is pretty,' Kimberly says, studying the ends of her crimped hair as though she's talking to all of us, when we all know she's talking to me.

‘For a wife,' Renee adds, laughing.

‘Yeah,' I croak, turning away before they can see the tears that sting my eyes. I struggle to think of a way to end this. ‘Where the hell is Tara?' I complain too sharply in the quiet night. ‘She's taking forever.'

For a long second they stare at me uncertainly, then Lisa laughs. ‘They're shockers in there. You wouldn't want to be dying of hunger.'

And even though it's obvious Lisa is trying to rescue me, Renee and Kimberly, incredibly, let it slide. I decide right then that I don't care what anyone says about them – they're fine by me. They start chatting about something that happened at school – a teacher whose skirt was caught in her undies after a visit to the toilet. Lisa does a theatrical imitation, while Renee and Kimberly giggle until their faces turn red. They look so different caught up in each other like this, laughter turning these women into girls. They are so utterly complete and confident together. Oblivious to anyone but each other. Like they belong wherever they are. I decide that they're not just from another world than mine, but a whole other universe.

I watch uncomfortably, offering a nervous chuckle. But soon I'm laughing too, for real this time, and it feels great.

We calm down, the giggles fading naturally when Tara finally appears and hands me a chunky lamb souvlaki. She gives us all a weird look, and an awkward silence falls.

‘Hey,' she manages, a forced smile on her lips. ‘They called your number.'

‘Thanks,' I say, and we all look at each other.

‘We should head,' Kimberly says, Renee agreeing with a quick nod.

‘See you later,' I say.

‘Yeah – Saturday probably. Oh, and don't worry about Mick,' Lisa says, her hand briefly touching my wrist. ‘I'm sure he'll be fine.'

‘They're saying he could be right for Saturday, but we'll know more soon,' I answer. I love that I know this stuff before they do. Even before the newspapers sometimes.

Renee frowns. ‘Weren't you at the club before?'

‘A while ago.' I look at my watch; it's been more than an hour since I left.

Lisa cocks her head, confused. ‘You didn't stay for training?'

‘No,' I say, panic rising in my chest. ‘I had to . . .' I struggle to remember what I told Tara. ‘Um, do stuff. What happened?'

Lisa's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. ‘Eddie broke down . . . in the warm-up.'

‘What? How? Is he okay?' My words run together, the questions losing all meaning. How have we been talking all this time without them mentioning this?

Renee blinks. ‘Last I heard they took him to hospital.'

I want to shake them, to make them tell me what they mean. But I control the shrill edge in my voice and clear my throat, determined to stay calm. Or at least
sound
calm. ‘But he was fine.'

Renee shrugs. ‘I saw Jim-Bob at the station. He said they snuck him out the back in an ambulance.'

In an
ambulance
? ‘But I just saw him! What did Jim-Bob say?'

Lisa smiles gently. ‘I don't know exactly – just that they were warming up. He never made it out onto the oval.'

‘Are you sure?' Mick was still inside when I left. I swing around wildly, checking their faces for any hint that they're messing with me.

Tara frowns at me. ‘It's probably just his knee again.'

I stare at her in disbelief. ‘
Just
his knee! It's almost finals – he can't be injured
now
.' My voice cracks in my rising panic, but I'm too worried to be embarrassed.

‘Geez, calm down,' Tara says.

‘He'll be okay,' Lisa offers, her expression caught between compassion and confusion. She thinks I'm over-reacting. They all do. ‘O'Reilly's doing well. Better for stability not to upset the team.'

I think I might throw up. This is
Mick
, not just anyone. ‘Where did they take him?' I croak.

‘How would we know?' Kimberly shrugs easily, her lacquered frizzed-up fringe not moving a millimetre, care of at least half a can of mousse. ‘Let's go. It's freezing.' She walks off with Renee, who follows, the usual two steps behind.

Lisa hesitates. ‘I don't know anything else but I'm sure he'll be fine,' she offers.

I manage a weak smile. ‘Thanks.' The souvlaki is falling apart in my hands, the juice running down my wrist and under my sleeve.

‘I'll see you later,' Lisa says, sending me another quick smile before rushing off to catch up with her friends.

Tara and I watch them head down Leafy Crescent towards the social club, their thin blouses and strappy heels ridiculous in the damp, wintry night – the giggling girls they were earlier vanishing in a cloud of Impulse and hair gel. I suddenly wish Kimberly and Renee would trip as they negotiate the broken footpath. Lisa turns back halfway between us and her friends and offers me a reassuring wave, reminding me why I've always separated her from the other two in my head.

I throw the souvlaki in the bin by the ‘No Standing' sign. My hands, dripping with grease, stink of garlic and lamb juice. The smell turns my stomach; I just want to crumple on the footpath and curl up into a ball.

Tara hands me a serviette.

I wipe my hands and bin the rubbish. ‘I have to go,' I tell Tara, half worried it's too late to use the usual excuses on Dad, and half not caring if he sees through it anyway. I don't have the energy to keep it up. That's the thing about secrets and lies – they might start off small and manageable but they grow bigger and heavier, no matter what you do. Even if you don't add to them, even if it's just a single decision to remain silent or to try to forget, time makes it worse anyway, so before you realise what's happening, it's so big and unspeakable that it's no longer in your control. You're not shaping it anymore – it's shaping you.